


The Woman in Red

by tanwencooper



Series: Three Times a Lady [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Stiles, Established Relationship, Fae & Fairies, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Porn With Plot, Secret Society, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 39
Words: 78,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwencooper/pseuds/tanwencooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has never had it better. He and Derek are hopelessly in love, the pack is stronger than ever and Stiles' finally getting a handle on his new powers. Yes. All things considered, life is pretty damn good right now.</p><p>But things can never stay good forever. Something is moving in the shadows and the whole of Beacon Hills is a target. Nothing comes without a cost and Stiles will have to pay for the powers he has been given: Sometimes you have to do what is right, no matter the price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Special Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final part of a trilogy. If you've not read Woman in White or Woman in Black, it's probably best to [ go back to the start. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/586314/chapters/1053770)
> 
> As always I crave feedback, so any constructive criticism please don't hesitate to out it in the comments. Even if you don't like my writing, please tell me why so I can try and improve. If you feel so inclined follow my [ tumblr](http://tanwencooper.tumblr.com/). a lot of Sterek with some other fandoms thrown in but I also post some fics on there.

            “Do we have to do this?” asked Derek

            “Yes. We have to do this,” said Stiles.

            “Are you sure? I’ve spent a long time fighting to stay alive. I’d rather not die tonight.”

            “Yes I’m sure. No one is going to die, stop worrying.”

            “Easy for you to say. He’s your Dad.”

            “Who is it Stiles?” called the man in question from the kitchen. For once Derek had come in through the front door. Used the doorbell and everything.

            “In a minute,” called Stiles. He returned his attention to Derek. “Look, we both know that I can in no way force you to do this, you’ve got the jump on my by like a hundred pounds of muscle but I can’t keep lying to him about everything. I’m planning on keeping you around for a while, you know. I want my Dad to know that too.”

            Stiles held onto Derek’s lapels, giving his boyfriend his best puppy dog eyes. Boyfriend. Even thinking it still made him want to break out into a spontaneous song and dance number.

            “How am I supposed to say no to that face?” Derek said, smiling. “You’re going to make me fall in love with you all over again.”

            Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair, just above his temple. He loved that spot, the way Derek’s hair scrunched between his fingers but felt smooth to the tips. A tiny bit of Derek that would be exactly the same if he weren’t a werewolf or didn’t spend hours staying in shape but was pure undistilled Derek.

            “I love you,” he muttered.

            “And stuff,” Derek replied.

            It had been over three months since Derek had sleepily told Stiles ‘I love you, and stuff’. It had become a running joke between them, one that no one else was privy too. It was little things like that that were making Stiles fall harder for Derek every day.

            Derek pulled away, leaning out to look down the corridor.

            “I think I’d just feel better about all this if your Dad wasn’t in possession of a side arm.”

            “My Dad is not going to shoot-” Stiles hesitated. Thinking on it, there was every chance his Dad might shoot Derek when they told him that he was having sex with his underage son. “Even if he does it’ll be fine, you’re a werewolf. It won’t kill you.”

            “Just because it doesn’t kill me doesn’t mean it won’t hurt. A lot.”

            Stiles was about to fire back a response when his Dad bumbled out of the kitchen into the hallway.

            “What is going on out here? I can hear you talking from in the… oh. Hello Mr Hale.”

            Stiles and Derek looked at each other. A flash of panic darted across Derek’s eyes.

            “Hello Sheriff Stilinski.” Derek was struggling to keep his voice flat.

            Stiles’ Dad glanced between the two of them.

            “Don’t suppose either of you feels like telling me what he’s doing here?”

            Stiles swallowed down hard. His hand reached down behind his back and found Derek’s.

            “Dad. There’s a conversation that we need to have.”

            The Sheriff eyed the two of them suspiciously.

            “Right…” said Stiles’ Dad. “What conversation do I need to have with my son that Derek Hale needs to be present for?”

            “Well you see, the thing is-” The entire English language disappeared out of Stiles’ brain. Behind him he could feel the terror radiation off of Derek. It must be invading his very soul.

            “If this is one of your stupid little... whatevers, can it wait? I have to get to work.”

            His Dad slipped his gun belt on and Derek’s claws cut into Stiles’ hand.

            “No. This is important. You see the thing is… what I need to say is…”

            “Stiles could you please stop wasting my time. I have real problems to deal with and you’re-”

            “Stiles and I are dating,” Derek blurted out.

            Stiles spun around to look at his boyfriend. He shrugged, as if to say ‘I panicked’. Slowly, Stiles turned back to his father. Stiles’ Dad’s hand was still resting on his gun belt as he looked at the two of them before he broke into a smile.

            “Nice try son,” he said grabbing his coat off the rack. “You nearly had me for a moment there.”

            He pushed Stiles out the way to get through the door.

            “What do you mean ‘nice try’?”

            “Making it Derek Hale, a guy I’ve arrested for murder-”

            “Suspected murder,” Derek jumped in.

            “Right, right, arrested for suspected murder, that’s a nice touch. I don’t know how much this joker is paying for you this Derek but it was not enough.”

            “Oh my God. You don’t believe me do you? How could you not believe me? Look!”

            Stiles attempted to lift up the hand he clung to with his own, but Derek whipped his back quickly. His claws were still out. The Sheriff just laughed as he headed out the door.

            “Derek Hale, Stiles. Come on. If you’re going to pretend to be gay at least do it with someone who’s even vaguely in your league.”

            Stiles stared open mouthed at the door as it closed.

            “What just happened?” he asked, looking at Derek dazed.

            “I think you came out to your Dad,” said Derek slowly, “and he didn’t believe you.”

            Stiles slumped against the wall.

            “I can’t believe he didn’t believe me. I’ve been panicking about telling him for a week and he doesn’t believe me! How could he not believe me!”

            This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. His Dad was supposed to be shocked. He was his father, he should have just known. Then he was supposed to get mad. How could Stiles have lied, and deceived him? What was Derek Hale doing with an underage boy, he should arrest him for statutory rape. Stiles was supposed to have to hold him back to stop him. His Dad was not supposed to laugh in his face!

            “I can’t believe that he thought I was out of your league!” Stiles had never felt so betrayed.

            “To be fair…” Derek spread out his arms and indicated his muscular, well-honed body. “He was kind of right. I am a bit out of your league. You have seen my abs right?”

            Stiles glared at him, finding the hints of a smile on Derek’s face. Adrenaline was pumping in his veins from the nerves he’d been pretending he didn’t have. He needed somewhere to put that energy boost.

            “Why don’t you and your abs get upstairs and we’ll see who exactly is out of whose league here.”

            Derek grinned broadly, spun on the spot and launched himself up the stairs, Stiles following hard on his tail. Reaching the landing Derek swept Stiles up in his arms and kissed him as they backed towards the bedroom.

            Derek’s fingers laced through Stiles’ hair as they moved towards the bed. It was getting long these days. Their clothes came off without much decorum as they threw them about the room. Derek laughed when Stiles tried to hop out of his pants, his legs getting caught up. The sound of Derek’s laughter was a rare sound but was becoming increasingly frequent.

            “You could help me out, Captain Chuckles.”

            “But this is far more entertaining.”

            Derek, stripped to nothing but his boxer shorts, reclined on the bed as he awaited Stiles to finish stripping. Stiles whined from arousal, launching himself at Derek with one leg still caught in his pants.

            “Your belt buckle is digging into my leg,” said Derek around Stiles’ kisses.

            “It will come off. Less talk. More make-outs.”

            He felt Derek’s chest vibrate with a growling chuckle as they rolled over in bed, tussling with each other, until they rolled right off the end of the bed.

            “Top or bottom?” Derek asked as his hand groped at Stiles’ body.

            “I do not care,” said Stiles. Usually it was obvious which one of them wanted to do what to whom. Then there were times like this, when it was playful and fun and less obvious.

            “Just pick one Stiles. I want to have sex with you and I want to do it now.”

            The low urgency in Derek’s voice did things to Stiles that should be illegal. It was pornographic.

            “Haven’t topped in a while,” said Stiles. “Get back on the bed, Hale.”

            They had one last bruising kiss before both leaping to their feet. Stiles ran to his bedside table for the lube while Derek reclined back on his bed. He lounged, completely at ease while he fondled himself, playing with every inch of his erection. Stiles knocked his hands away as he took his place between Derek’s legs.

            “Who said that was allowed?”

            Stiles flipped Derek over so that the werewolf was on his front beside him. Slicking himself up, he gave Derek a quick explore with his fingers. Derek groaned, bucking up against them as he ground his face into Stiles’ sheets. Just before he lined himself up, Stiles gave Derek’s ass a quick bite, running his tongue down the channel between the cheeks, brushing along the surface. He’d never been able to bring himself to go any deeper, not yet anyway, but it always made Derek moan in a way that made him wish he had the guts to.

            “Ready?” asked Stiles, already pressing the head of his cock in between Derek’s cheeks.

            “Shut up and fuck me.”

            Stiles obliged. It was weird to think this was a familiar feeling now, another man clamped around his cock. He loved how he could feel everything while he was inside Derek, every quiver of not just Derek’s body but his own. He could steer Derek through waves of pleasure and leave the man as nothing more than a shivering mess or hold off until he was begging to be finished and Derek could do the exact same to him.

            “I love you,” Stiles grunted as he flopped against Derek’s back, kissing whatever he could lay his lips on.

            Derek grunted something in reply that Stiles couldn’t make out. He strained to hear, but Derek’s face was buried in the sheets. This was all wrong. He whipped himself out, making Derek give one of those little whines that he always gave when Stiles withdrew from him. It was the sexiest noise that Stiles knew.

            “Turn over,” said Stiles.

            Derek flipped over, his eyes still closed as he worked himself with his own hand. Stiles replaced himself inside Derek and carried on, leaning forward every few thrusts to kiss Derek, pulling back when it made his back ache too much. He laced his fingers through Derek’s pumping fist and they started to jack the werewolf off together.

            It wasn’t long then. Stiles came first. He felt it building long before he came, shooting his entire load into Derek. His hand stopped moving on Derek’s cock as Stiles coasted the aftershocks but was persuaded on by Derek’s own urgent hand. Stiles kissed Derek as he pulled out of him and began to pick up speed with his hand, bringing down the other to play with Derek’s balls. A few minutes later, Derek grabbed Stiles’ hair and hauled him up to kiss him hard. Another moment later and Derek threw his head back with a look of wide eyed surprise as his own orgasm shook him.

            They lay together on the bed, murmuring words of love into each other’s flesh. When Stiles began to shiver Derek wrapped the bed sheet around them both.

            Derek played with Stiles’ hair. He did that a lot, even when they weren’t making out. Derek loved to run his fingers through it and grab on. Stiles hadn’t meant for it to get so long, but when he’d broken his arm in the fight with Jackson three months ago he’d not been able to hold the razor right. When he’d got the cast off Derek had made his views on Stiles rebuzzing his hair and what would happen if he tried it very clear. The hair had stayed. Now Derek had something to hold on to.

            “Making me change already,” said Stiles. “First it’s my hair, then one day you’re telling me not to head out in that skirt, it makes me look like a hussy.”

            Derek sniggered. “Like you haven’t changed me,” he said fondly. “I’m smiling Stiles. Look at my face. Look at what it’s doing.”

            “I am. It looks weird, like your cheek muscles are crying out in protest that they don’t know what to do anymore.”

            Derek grabbed the pillow and hit Stiles in the face with it before kissing him again.

            “Thank you,” said Derek. “I missed smiling.”

            “You are running a risk of being romantic,” Stiles warned. “There is a most definite risk of romance in this room right now.”

            “You’re an idiot. Remind me why I love you.”

            “No idea. I’m totally out of your league.”

            “How long before you let that go?” asked Derek.

            “Never!”

            Derek started to kiss him again. It was the weekend. His Dad was at work. There was nothing to stop him from lounging around in bed all day with his Beefcake McSexywolf.

            “Oh come on,” whined Derek, pulling back from a ferocious kiss.

            “What’s up?”

            “Someone just pulled up outside.”

            “Just leave it,” said Stiles working his lips down Derek’s jawline.

            “Sounds like a van. I think it might be a delivery.”

            Stiles collapsed back into the pillows. If Derek was right then he’d only have to end up driving across town to pick it up from the depot. With a growl of his own he levered himself up and grabbed a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt.

            “Delivery for S. Stilinski,” said the man when Stiles opened the door. He was holding a huge box, about three feet square and one foot deep.

            “Well you came to the right place,” said Stiles before adding quietly, “at completely the wrong freaking time.”

            He signed for the package and carried it upstairs. Derek was still lounging in the sheets, the angelically white bedspread draped artistically over him. He looked like a Renaissance painting of a Greek freaking god. Stiles was all for jumping straight back in to join him and forget the parcel when he noticed the return address. It was some place in Germany.

            “It’s from the Order,” he said.

            “More supernatural policing to do?” Derek got up, knotting Stiles’ bed sheet around his waist.

            Stiles had been in the Weisse Rat, or White Order, for six months, working as part of the Council. The Council appeared to pretty much run the supernatural world from behind the scenes but they’d had little for him to do these past few months. Just as well since he’d been recovering from a broken arm whilst also making the most of finally having a stable relationship with Derek at every given opportunity. In fact he was enjoying it so much that it was driving the rest of the pack to distraction. Apparently having to smell your alpha and your best friend’s sex stink all over the place was not an enjoyable experience.

            From the desk drawer Stiles retrieved the pen-knife that Allison had given him for his seventeenth birthday. It was a joke between the two of them, payback for when he’d pretended to slash her throat open to get Scott to kill a mad kanima alpha. It had been one of those sort of nights. He cut open the wrapping to reveal a pristine white box with a pearlescent finish that shimmered in the light. _WEISSE MUNICH_ was embossed in silver letters on the top.

            “Looks fancy,” said Derek, sliding his arms around Stiles’ waist.      

            Stiles pulled the lid off to find black tissue paper wrapping whatever was inside. Peeling it back revealed an expanse of red leather. He picked it up and half pulled it out the box. It was another hooded coat, like the white one he wore for official business with the Order, except this one was made of dark red leather.

            “Is that a leather Little Red Riding Hood,” Derek grumbled into his ear. “Kinky. I like it.”

            The tone of Derek’s voice would usually have Stiles on his knees right about now. Something felt wrong. While his white coat seemed to calm his mind and make it easier to concentrate, this one was doing something else, leaching out his life, his vitality. He dropped the coat and shoved the lid back on. The second he let go he felt like he’d just stepped into a boiling hot bath after a standing out in the cold for hours.

            He turned around to face Derek, kissing him deeply. If Derek could tell how much the jacket had shaken Stiles, he wasn’t letting on.

            “That is official property of the Weisse Rat. It is not to be used in your kinky sex games.”

            Derek looked sheepish for a second.

            “Could we… get one to be used in kinky sex games?”

            “A little red riding hood fetish? Seriously?”

            “Well I am the big bad wolf.”

            Derek stepped backwards, dragging the two of them towards the bed.

            “My Derek, what big hands you’ve got,” said Stiles.

            “All the better to throw you on the bed with.”

            Derek picked up Stiles and threw him down in time with the words.

            “What a long tongue you’ve got.”

            “All the better to turn you on with.” Derek began to run his tongue down all the sensitive places of Stiles’ body.

            “My what a big cock you have,” said Stiles as he closed his hand around it.

            “Well, you’ll just have to wait a bit to find out what’s all the better to do with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read about Stiles and Derek's adventures with Little Leather Riding Hoods then you should go[ here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/749474)
> 
> The wonderful cover art was done by [MidoriEyes](midorieyes.tumblr.com). If you don't know her work then you should go look at them now.


	2. Bad Moon Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is caught in the middle when Derek has trouble contacting Isaac

              _‘Bad Moon Rising’_ echoed off the tiles of the locker room. Stiles recognised Derek’s personalised ring tone straight away.

            “Hey hun,” he said brightly. “Miss me already?”

            Beside him Scott pulled a face as they got ready for morning practice. Despite having three months to get used to the idea, most of the pack still got weirded out by the fact that Derek and Stiles were dating, let alone had adoring pet names for each other.

            “Shut up,” he heard Derek say with fond exasperation.

            “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “You call me for a reason or just to tell me how invaluable to your existence I am?”

            “Of course Stiles. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

            Knowing how important he was to Derek didn’t really help him sleep at night. A good throw down with him though, that made Stiles sleep like it was an Olympic sport.

            Derek continued, “I need to talk to Isaac.”

            “Oh my God. I knew you were cheating on me,” he said with mock distress. “How could you?”

            “Stiles! Can you be serious for like 20 seconds! I’ve been trying to get a hold of him all morning but he’s not picking up his phone. It’s not like him, I’m worried.”

            “He must be lying dead in a ditch, murdered by a rampant Unicorn.”

             Derek growled down the phone at him. Time to be serious then. Stiles looked around the locker room. Him and Scott had arrived especially early to run some plays before morning practice so it was only them at the moment and he could talk freely.

            “He probably just left his phone somewhere. Can't you just howl and summon your little underlings to you.”

            “That's not the point. I'm his alpha. He should be there when I call him. What's the point of having a phone if you can't get anyone?”

            He sounded genuinely wounded but this was a man that didn’t see the point in having a home with a fully functioning roof.

            “Just as well you’ve gotten over your control issues in our relationship, I’d go insane if you wanted to know where I was all the time. If this is what you’re like as an alpha I am so glad I'm not part of your pack.”

            “You are part of my pack. You're just an alpha, not a beta.”

            Stiles smiled and started to walk away from Scott, conscious that he’d be able to hear every word that Derek was saying on the other end of the line.

            “Really. You think that?”

            “Yeah. You’re my equal Stiles. You might not be as strong or as fast as the rest of us, but you still throw yourself into this world. It’s one of the reasons I love you.” He said the last words quietly, as if knowing that Scott might be listening in. Stiles cast his friend a quick look. He was restringing his lacrosse stick with an intent fixation quite untypical of Scott. Derek continued. “You could have just walked away from all this at any time but you didn’t. I always thought humans… sorry, non-werewolf persons were weak and pathetic, but you’re not. It took you to show me that. Stiles, I saw you fight a rabid werewolf with a broken arm even after he’d knocked out Isaac. You took a bullet to save my life without thinking. You are the strongest person I know. I think you’re bad ass enough to be classed as an alpha.”

            Stiles felt like his heart had been replaced by a helium balloon as he leaned up against the wall.

            “I am pretty bad ass,” he said. The door swung open and Greenburg swept into the locker room with a wave. Stiles straightened up his back and started to walk back towards Scott. “So, yeah. Isaac. I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”

            “What’s wrong?” Derek said, suddenly alert. “Oh wait. It’s Tuesday. Practice isn’t it? I’ll let you get back to it. It’s not important. Just let me know when you see him and get him to let me know if he’s coming to training tonight.”

            “Training,” said Stiles. “You’ve been calling them in like four times a week. Something going on I don’t know about?”

            “You never know what’s around the corner.”

            “Um… yeah I do. It’s kinda my thing these days.”

            “Well, you do Mr Clairvoyant but the rest of us don’t have a clue. Besides, these rock hard abs don’t just happen all by themselves and I’m sure you’d miss them if they went away.”

            Beside him Scott let out a stifled whine and hit his head gently against the locker, trying to make it look like an accident. The poor boy was trying not to listen, bless him, but it wasn’t going too well.

            “Yeah. I would. I gotta go, sucide runs to kill myself on and all.”

            “And you do this out of choice? Ah well, have fun. Love you,” said Derek.

            “And stuff,” replied Stiles and hung up.

            Stiles held the phone in his hand for a moment, staring at the screen. He’d managed to snap a photo of Derek for the caller ID, with no help from the subject of his loving portrait. It was at an angle and showed Derek’s arm from where he was lunging for the phone and he’d forgotten to turn the flash off so it was mostly just the glare from his eyes. Anyone coasting through the phone would have no clue as to the identity of ‘Cousin Miguel’ from that photo but it made Stiles smile every time he saw it and he remembered the play fight and subsequent make out session when it was taken.

            “I don’t know what you did,” said Scott grabbing his helmet while he waited for Stiles to don his pads, “but I think I actually preferred the antisocial jerk. Loved up Derek is just wrong.”

            “Sorry,” said Stiles, not sorry at all. “You can’t have him back. He’s mine now. Hey Isaac! Just the man.”

            Isaac looked up from the bag he’d just dumped on the bench. The rest of the team was beginning to arrive now.

            “Huh?”

            “Derek called. Been trying to get a hold of you.”

            “I could have told you that,” said Danny stepping round the corner. His face was rigid and his eyes were ringed with dark bags. “You left your phone at mine. This ‘Derek’ rang you six times this morning.”

            Danny slammed the phone into his boyfriend’s hand.

            “Thanks,” said Isaac, obviously missing Danny’s foul mood and leaning in for a kiss. Danny jerked away, muttering about having to get ready for practice. Isaac looked after him for a while, debating internally whether to go after him or not.

            “Just let Derek know you’re not dead,” said Stiles slapping him on the shoulder. “You know how your poor Mama Wolf worries about his little cublings.”

 

*****

 

            Whatever was annoying Danny, he was obviously letting his tension out during practice. The goalie was slamming into every person he could, purposefully aiming at people’s heads and got reprimanded by coach a half dozen times before they had to get to class.

            Jackson tried to comfort his best friend but was treated to a vicious shove into the lockers for his troubles. Jackson was back in school but he was still only a sophomore. He’d missed too many classes and didn’t have Lydia’s brilliance to keep up with his peers. His parents had considered home schooling him for the rest of the year but he convinced them that the best way to get over the traumatic events of the last year was to be in school, even if he didn’t tell them what those traumatic events were. There aren’t many ways you can tell your parents you turned in to a murderous lizard, then a rabid half faery werewolf without them dialing for the loony bin.

            “What the hell is wrong with you!” Jackson yelled at Danny as he grabbed his friend by the shoulder.

            Danny remained silent, shooting a vicious look at Isaac, who could only shrug.

            “What did I do?” asked Isaac.

            “‘What did I do’, he asks,” said Danny. “More like what did you _not_ do. First you cancel every other date without any explanation, then when you do actually show up you run out in such a hurry you forget your phone.”

            “I’m sorry,” said Isaac. He moved closer to Danny and lowered his voice. The entire locker room was staring. “Can we talk about this somewhere a bit more private about this?”

            Danny pushed him back. Hard.

            “No. No we cannot talk about this somewhere more private. I’m pissed and I want to yell and I want to make a goddamn scene. I am sick of everyone thinking I have this _amazing_ boyfriend who is _so sweet_ and _so lovely_ when in reality he’s a selfish, secretive asshole who doesn’t tell me a damn thing about what he’s doing. I don’t even know where you freaking live, Isaac. How fucked up is that?”

            Isaac cast a desperate look over to Scott. He was supposed to be living in the care of some distant relative since his father died. In reality he was staying with Derek. Danny whipped around, following Isaac’s eye line.

            “Oh. Yeah. That’s right,” he said. “I forgot that Scott is like your BFF now. Why don’t you go back to making goo goo eyes at him?”

            Isaac recoiled in horror. Thankfully ever clueless Scott had never even guessed that once upon a time Isaac had been completely besotted with him.

            “I can’t deal with you and your secretive bullshit anymore,” Danny carried on ranting. “You want to have your secret life without me, that’s fine but you can live it all without me. Goodbye Isaac. Don’t try texting me, even if there is enough battery left on your phone after it’s been ringing half the night.”

            “Danny!” Isaac said weakly as his now ex-boyfriend stormed out of the locker room. “Danny wait.”

            “I’ll go,” said Jackson. He grabbed Isaac’s arm shoved the boy back down on the bench.

            “What just happened?” Isaac was in a daze. He was still staring after where Danny had stormed out of the door.

            “I think you got dumped man.”

            “No one asked you Greenburg!” said Stiles, shoving his team mate out the way.

            “I knew this was coming,” said Isaac weakly. “He’s been getting more and more wound up about the secrets and the lies. I knew it was only a matter of time.”

            “It’s okay man. Just give him some time to cool off,” said Scott.

            “And in that time we’ll think of a really great excuse to explain all this away,” said Stiles. “I’m thinking you’re a British spy secretly sent here to dissect American life.”

            “That’s just it Stiles.” There were tears in his eyes now. “I’ve been explaining it away for the last six months. There’s only so long you can hide who you really are. I should have just told him the god damn truth.”

            He broke down into sobs. Scott stared at him in horror for a moment before laying a reassuring arm on his shoulder. He and Stiles stared at each other. All the super powers in the world couldn’t help you when you were trying to fix a broken heart.


	3. And Then There's Isaac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac is so miserable at training even Derek notices something is wrong.

            Isaac tried to talk to Danny but if his demeanour at the training session that night was anything to go by it hadn’t gone well. Through every run and assault course that Derek made him do, Isaac was barely even using his human speed and agility, meekly taking every berating without a word.

            “What’s going on?” Derek asked Stiles.

            Stiles’ had been sat at the side doing his homework with Allison while they stole cheeky peeks at their respective boyfriends’ magnificent bodies. Stiles loved the times they could spend all together, no one holding any part of themselves back. Sometimes Lydia and Jackson would turn up but not always. He was still trying to work out if he was a pack animal or a lone wolf and Lydia was catching up on her months away from Beacon Hills High School.

            “He broke up with Danny,” Stiles said, quickly explaining the situation.

            “Ahh, that explains it. It must be hard for him being here around all of us.”

            “We’re his friends,” said Stiles. “Why would it be hard to be around us?”

            Derek frowned at him and then nodded over to the others around the room.

            “Look. Allison and Scott in one corner, you and me in another, Erica and Boyd wherever they can. And then there’s Isaac.”

            He was right. They were all paired off except for Isaac. No wonder it had put so much strain on his and Danny’s relationship. Isaac was sitting at the base of the stairs, looking even more lost than usual and waving off anyone who tried to talk to him.

            “How did you notice that and not me? Aww, Derek! It’s like your turning into a real boy.”

            Derek fisted his hand into Stiles’ hair and shoved his face away. He’d come a long way since the days of crippling emotional constipation that had throttled their relationship before. Stiles ran the tip of his nose up Derek’s cheek and moved away.

            Despite the whole pack knowing about them, they limited their PDAs. Not like before, they didn’t avoid touching like they’d explode if they just brushed each other, but they weren’t falling on each other every second. It was probably some pack dynamics stuff of Derek’s, but if he was honest Stiles’ felt funny about macking on his boyfriend in front of his best friend. Too many times of watching Allison and Scott go at it when he was single, probably. Besides it made the times when they _did_ fall on each other and go nuts all the more intense.

            “Take him out,” said Derek. “Do something fun with him. It sucks when your boyfriend breaks up with you.”

            Stiles hooked a finger through Derek’s belt loop and leaned his forehead against his boyfriends’ shoulder. The only reason Derek knew that was because of Stiles and his inability to realise his own stupidity when it came to relationships. Derek leaned in close and rumbled a low whisper to make sure the others wouldn’t hear.

            “The make-up sex, however, is pretty fucking great.”

            He brushed his lips against Stiles’ temple without kissing him as he announced the session’s curtailment to the rest of the group.

            “Who fancies a little celebration at, say, Jungle?” said Stiles, doing his sexy dance that made him look like a chicken with diarrhoea. “They do have the best music.”

            The others looked at him oddly for a moment before he nodded frantically at Isaac who looked up at them sadly.

            “I know what you’re trying to do-” he started.

            “Great! Then we won’t have to pretend,” said Allison hauling Isaac to his feet and dragging him out to the car. He could have resisted but it would have been a losing battle.           “Derek you coming?”

            Derek waved his hand at them.

            “You kids have fun,” he said, croaking like an old timer.

            Stiles waited until the others were gone before putting his arms around Derek’s neck and kissing him deeply.

            “You’re the best alpha ever,” said Stiles.

            “Just don’t break any of them or I’ll never get the security deposit back.”

            “I think you may have already voided the warrenty with the number of times you’ve hit them in the face,” said Stiles. “Sure I can’t tempt you to come along or are you still getting over your allergy to fun?”

            “I don’t want to overdose too much too soon. I get a good, hard, shot of fun whenever I get you in bed,” said Derek giving him a passionate, biting kiss that made Stiles want to forget all about Isaac and his boyfriend problems and focus on his own boyfriend problems i.e. the number of clothes he was wearing.

            “Are you two done yet!” Erica yelled through the door. “It’s cold and you’re our ride.”

            Stiles whined and buried himself in Derek’s shoulder.

            “Yeah. Gimme a sec.” He stepped back from Derek, his hands trailing behind the rest of him. “Keep a hold of that thought. I’ll give you a call when we’re done and you can come over. And over. And over.”

            Derek threw Stiles’ hands off of his chest and pushed him towards the door.

            “Get out of here before I have to call your Dad and claim your trespassing. Oh and Stiles?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Watch out for Isaac. Make sure he doesn’t do anything he’ll regret. Or do _anyone_ he’ll regret.”

            Stiles gave him one last smile. Despite all his bluster and gruelling training sessions Derek was really starting to care about his pack. After all, a wolf’s pack is his family.

 

*****

 

            It was a Friday night so there was already a queue to get in when they arrived, standing together shivering in the cold night air. Despite all their cajoling Isaac seemed determined to be as depressed as humanly possible. He’d spent the entire ride over begging Scott and Allison to drop him off in the woods so he could just go for a run.

            Nothing they tried seemed to cheer him up. He didn’t even crack a smile when Boyd and Scott accidentally flirted with the guys next to them in the queue. The second that the guys flirted back and they realised what was going on, the pair of them turned to point at their girlfriends, only to find Erica and Allison with their arms around each other as if in a lovers embrace.

            “Sorry about these two,” said Allison with a barely suppressed grin. “They only just came out last week. They did it together. It was so romantic.”

            “Not like us, hey sweetie?” said Erica, kissing Allison quickly on the mouth.

            Watching Boyd and Scott’s minds blank out as they realised what their girlfriends were up to was one of the most entertaining things Stiles had ever seen. The two boys turned on their heel back to the guys ahead of them in the queue, arms all over each other as they fabricated a love story on the spot. It _was_ very romantic.

            Meanwhile Isaac was still staring blankly. When he spoke it took Stiles a moment to realise who was talking to him.

            “Doesn’t it bother you?” asked Isaac quietly.

            “Does what bother me?” asked Stiles.

            “Derek. Not wanting to come out with us. It’s because of your Dad right. He doesn’t know. It must be tough lying to him all the time.”

            Stiles knew there was more to the question. Isaac was trying to work out his own web of lies with Danny through Stiles.

            “Actually we told my Dad last week,” said Stiles.

            Scott’s attention whipped back to Stiles.

            “What! When! How is Derek not in jail right now? What did he say?”

            “My father’s exact words were ‘Nice try’,” said Stiles.

            “Nice try?” asked Erica.

            “Uhuh. He said that if I wanted to try and ‘pretend’ to be gay then I should have chosen someone a little less ‘out of my league’ than Derek. Can you believe he said that!”

            The others looked at him as if to say that yes, they could very much believe that.

            “No offense Stiles,” said Boyd, “but Derek is…” He flexed his muscles to make them bulge even more. “And you’re…” he waved his hand up and down Stiles’ body.

            “Screw all of you!”

            “I thought that’s what Derek was for,” said Erica slyly into Allison’s ear.

            Allison sniggered before trying to look concerned.

            “ _Does_ it bother you?” she asked. “Derek not coming out with us to stuff like this or when we go to the movies. It’s not just about your Dad, is it?”

            Ahh. God bless Allison. Always so concerned.

            “Can you actually picture him here? With all of the colours? He’d probably have a fit or something,” said Stiles pointing up at the neon sign and waving his fingers at the thumping music they could hear even out here on the street. “This place is hardly Derek’s scene.”

            “He’s dating you,” said Scott. “Doesn’t that make him at least, like, bisexual or something.”

            “I don’t know,” said Stiles. “We don’t tend to talk about stuff like that.”

            “I kind of always thought he wasn’t interested in anyone,” said Boyd.

            “Agreed,” said Erica. “He was totally not in to it that time I kissed him.”

            Stiles turned on her quickly.

            “That time you what? Sorry? Hmm?”

            “Kissed him,” she said, ready to toy with him.

            “It was long before you and Derek were ever together,” said Boyd cutting her off. “Back when… the first time round with Jackson. The lizard thing,” he finished conscious of who might be listening in.

            “Funny, Derek never mentioned it,” said Stiles. He felt a rare pang of jealousy. “Better not happen again. He’s mine now.”

            “Aww, are you getting possessive Stiles. That is so adorable.”

            Erica ruffled his hair but before he had time to retaliate the bouncer at the head of the queue beckoned them forward. Their fake IDs got them all in without a second glance. Except for Stiles of course, who had to list off his star sign and state capital. Luckily he’d anticipated such events and knew everything about his fake persona there was to know. Foresight could be a wonderful thing sometimes.


	4. Welcome to the Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Make-Isaac-Super-Mega-Awesome-Happy is at full operation in Jungle. Unfortunately someone less than ideal has turned their eyes on Isaac.

            Jungle was by far the best club in all of Beacon Hills but Isaac seemed intent on being even more morose than usual. He was hanging to the wall, nursing a Diet Coke whilst his friends danced around him. Eventually Erica got so pissed off that she dragged him out onto the floor herself but he only shuffled his feet with no real feeling or rhythm.

            “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” yelled Erica into his ear and she pushed him towards the nearest likely looking target.

            Whether it was Isaac’s flustered apology or the residue of his puppy dog eyes, the man he’d stumbled into visibly melted. He helped Isaac to his feet and very obviously kept his hand on Isaac’s bicep whilst they talked. Was that a hint of a smile that Stiles detected on Isaac’s face?

            Keeping half an eye on Isaac to make sure he wasn’t about to get dragged off to some back room, Stiles and Scott began doing what they did best: making an idiot of themselves. They threw themselves around to the music, pissing off everyone within a ten foot radius as they showed off their ‘best’ dance moves.

            Erica and Allison were entering into the spirit of the night as well. Carrying on from their pervious play acting, they were dancing close to each other, grinding and rubbing against each other with the most ridiculous grin on their faces. But it was their eyes that were the most intense thing. They kept them wide open staring into each other’s soul as they did a dance where the presence of clothes seemed highly inappropriate. They only closed their eyes when they moved in close and began a long passionate kiss, hands ranging all over each other.

            It was at that point that Scott blacked out and fell over. Boyd looked about ready to do the same. There was only so much blood in the human body after all.

            Scott regained consciousness the second that he hit the floor and bounded back up to his feet, alert and concentration fully on his girlfriend. Erica and Allison fell into fits of giggles, though they still remained entwined around each other.

            Stiles shook his head, casting his eye around to try and find Isaac. He shouted Isaac’s name but it was useless above the noise. He found the boy at the bar talking to the same guy he’d fallen on. It didn’t look like a particularly charged exchange, no rampant sexual tension shooting backwards and forwards. Isaac was smiling but he still looked sad. Stiles wandered closer, pretending to get a drink while he eavesdropped. They seemed to be talking about Random Club Guy’s ex, swapping sob stories.

            Isaac’s face suddenly dropped and he stopped paying any attention to Random Club Guy. Over by the entrance where a handful of players from the lacrosse team including Jackson and, more importantly, Danny. Stiles made a beeline for Lydia as soon as he saw her.

            “Stiles, what are you doing here?” she said, giving him a big hug. He nodded at Isaac over by the bar. Danny had seen him too. “Let me guess, you guys are on cheer up duty too?”

            “Well this seems to be going as well as our plans usually do,” said Stiles dryly. “What should we do? You guys want to move on or should I suggest a move?”

            “No. Neither of us is going anywhere. You stay on this side, we’ll stay upstairs. Jackson got us into the VIP area anyway, so we probably won’t even see you guys much.”

            “Of course he did,” said Stiles, earning himself a glare from Lydia. He threw up his hands in apology and walked back towards Isaac.

            All the gang’s hard work had probably just been undone but Stiles could claw it back. Team Make-Isaac-Super-Mega-Awesome-Happy would not be beaten. Returning to the bar he found it devoid of Isaac, though the guy he’d been talking to was still there flirting with the bar man. Crap.

            He searched and was about to jump up onto a podium for a better view when he saw Isaac staring up at the dancing pole. His jaw was hanging loose, eyes transfixed by the gyrating man on top of the platform. Stiles could see why. The man was gorgeous. He looked perfect, not drenched in sweat like everyone else here. Had a timeless handsomeness to him and he moved with a grace unlike anyone he’d ever seen. Anyone human that was.

            It was a freaking faery. He could see the gold bracelet on the man’s wrist that held his human face in check. Derek had told him to look after Isaac and letting the boy have sex with a faery was not something that he was about to let happen. No way. No how.

            Stiles marched forward with purpose, noticing that the faery-man’s eyes were beginning to linger on Isaac.

            “Oh like hell you do!”

            He was so intent on stopping this travesty that Stiles didn’t notice the woman until he walked slap bang into the back of her, sending her drink flying all over the girl she’d been chatting up.

            “Hey watch where you’re… Oh. I guess I should have seen _this_ one coming.”

            Stiles stopped dead in his tracks, the cold well of fear that gets delved when you’re caught doing something you’re not supposed to overflowing.

            “Hello Aunt Angela,” he said trying to sound suave.

            It was hard enough getting caught at a club you’d snuck into illegally at the best of times, but when you got caught by a woman who was your mother’s twin it was doubly awful.

            “Sorry babe,” she said turning back to the girl she was talking to. “I’m going to have to take a raincheck on that drink. My _seventeen_ year old nephew just made me spill this one.”

            The girl that Angela had been talking to handed his aunt something. A napkin with a number written on it in lipstick. She had got to be joking.

            “You’re hitting on girls in clubs now?” asked Stiles.

            “Well I have to get my rocks off somewhere, since you’ve banned the obvious option.” She spoke with a suave calm, as she always did.

            “The obvious option… _Peter!_ Please tell me you’re not seriously thinking about getting back together with _Peter._ ”

            “No. Not really. I just like to mess with you. Though we have been getting friendly again and he was always good for a quick fuck-”

            Stiles made a loud noise of horror to stop her from talking. She smirked at him. Why did she have to love tormenting him so much?

            “How old was that girl anyway?” asked Stiles, keen to talk about anything that wasn’t Peter Hale.

            “Lesbians can be cougars too you know,” she said cooly, smirking slightly when he looked at her appalled.

            “She looks like she’s tweleve.”

            “Twenty one actually, which is more than I can say for you.”

            She crossed her arms and Stiles was suddenly very aware of why she’d chosen a top that tight and that red.

            “Do you mind putting your cleavage away?” he begged to the ceiling.

            Angela looked at her chest as if surprised she now had breasts. With a sigh she dropped her hands to her hips.

            “Answer the question. What are you doing here, Little Red?” she asked. “I can tell when you’re deflecting boy. I am the queen of deflection. Do not make me call the bouncers over here.”

            “Fine!” he said viciously. He quickly explained the situation to his aunt. “I’m not even drinking seeing as how I’m the only one with a car. You ever tried to cram six people into that Jeep?”

            She regarded him for a moment before grabbing his shirt and pulling him forward so her face was right up against his.

            “Breathe,” she said.

            She took a long sniff as he huffed out, checking his breath for alcohol. She nodded, satisfied.

            “Keep on the soda and we won’t have a problem here.”

            “What are you doing here anyway?” he asked. “It doesn’t look like you’re just here to pick up chicks.”

            She rolled her eyes.

            “Surveillance. Ever since Eoghan I’ve been keeping a closer eye on the fae. They know we’re watching, it keeps them in check.”

            She nodded over to the podium, where the faery dancer was twisting round the pole with a dexterity that made even Stiles wondered how that would translate to-

            He reviled at the thought of it. That had been a recent thing. Anytime he thought about someone other than Derek that way it was like his body was rejecting it. The last time he’d watched porn he’d felt physically sick.

            Stiles watched as the half-faery swung himself around the pole and dropped down beside Isaac, fixing the boy with his intense stare.

            “Oh hell no,” said Angela and Stiles in unison.

            They surged forward, Stiles forcibly stepping between them.

            “What did I do now?” asked the faery.

            “No. Not this one. He is off limits,” said Angela.

            “Why am I off limits?” asked Isaac in a daze.

            “Because this fucker is a faery,” Angela replied. “Werewolves are off limits to faeries. And vice versa. I do not want either one of you starting a freaking interspecies war over a one night stand. Faery plus werewolf equals big fucking mess for Angela.”

            “What about you’re little friend?” said the faery looking over her shoulder at Stiles. “He’s not a wolf. Can I have a go on that?”

            “No,” said Angela slowly.

            “I doubt my big werewolfy boyfriend would like that very much,” said Stiles. He had to remind himself what bastards faeries were. This one really was very attractive. Maybe he and Derek could… No Stiles. Stop that right now.

            “Great,” said Angela. “That’s all sorted. Now stop flirting with sixteen year old boys and go screw someone your own age.”

            “I’m 2459 years old,” said the faery.

            “You look it,” said Angela. “Now scoot!”

            The faery gave Stiles and Isaac one last appreciative viewing before latching on to one of his other admirers.

            “I hate fucking faeries.”

            “Is it that I’m only just noticing them, or are there faeries on every street corner these days?” asked Stiles.

            “It’s a bloody epidemic is what it is. Why the hell did I decide to move here again?”

            The apartment that the Council had rented for Angela and her former partner had now become Angela’s permanent residence. She wanted to get to know her nephew and apparently she thought he needed someone to keep an eye on him. Past experience had only proved her right. It was nice having her round. She disappeared for weeks at a time for work but when she was here she never missed a lacrosse game, was always on hand when he needed to whine about his latest personal dilemma and was generally equipping herself as a fairly decent aunt. It had been him and his Dad for so long that it was almost a relief to have a second shoulder to lean on.

            Third, he thought with a smile. He had Derek’s shoulder. He had all of Derek, in fact.

            “I better follow him,” said Angela. “He’s looking for another toy. Never let faeries play with your toys. They always break them.”

            Angela followed after the faery, always a few steps behind while he frolicked with whatever pretty thing caught his eye.

            “Stiles,” said Isaac. “Your family is weird.”

            “Yup,” said Stiles. “But then so am I. What can you do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super-Mega-Foxy-Awesome-Hot.


	5. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Isaac have a little trouble with some pushy guys. Some people will not take no for an answer.

            Stiles and Isaac walked back towards the rest of the pack when their path blocked by a pair of not altogether unattractive men.

            “Well if you two aren’t just the sweetest little things I have ever seen.”

            The men’s eyes ranged up and down Stiles and Isaac. Stiles’ had to admit, he felt a slight ego boost as he realised he was being checked out just as much as Isaac was. Even though he’d buffed out a lot in the past year or so, it was an unfortunate side effect of hanging out with werewolves that you were rarely the one being eyed up.

            “Hey there!” he said loudly, choosing to ignore Isaac’s questioning glare. “Great night!”

            “The best,” said one of the guys who must have called dibs on Isaac from the way he was looking at him. “It’s a great place to dance, get a drink, have fun. Hook up.”

            “Can we get you two a drink?” said the second of the pair. He swooped in close to Stiles, putting a hand delicately on the boy’s waist. Ok. Too far. Flirty time over.

            “Ah, no. I’m good. Thanks though.”

            “You sure,” said the one who had chosen Stiles. He seemed far more pushy than Isaac’s guy. “I can be very persuasive. Come on, it’s just one drink. No catch.”

            “Flattered but uh… kind of taken.”

            “Yeah, I don’t think his _boyfriend_ would like that very much,” said Isaac. The pointed comment was more to Stiles than to their two admirers. “He’s kind of the possessive type.”

            “And what about you sugar? You taken?” said Isaac’s guy.

            “Yes,” said Isaac automatically, then shook his head. “Actually no, not anymore but I’m not looking.”

            “Neither am I, doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.”

            “Again, thanks but no thanks,” said Stiles.

            “You’re boyfriend here?” asked Stiles’ guy.

            “No. Not really his kind of thing,” said Stiles. He was getting increasingly uneasy. These guys would not take no for an answer.

            “Well what he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.”

            “Yeah, but I’ll know,” said Stiles, angry now.

            “So? It’s just a little fun.”

            “No, it’s cheating on my boyfriend. Who I love.”

            “Oh come on. You’re young, free, why get tied down so soon?”

            Stiles was beginning to feel a little worried now. The pair were backing them into a corner, somehow surrounding them even though there was only two of them. It would have been intimidating apart from the fact Isaac was a werewolf and he was a clairvoyant who could now kick ass seven ways from Sunday. He just really didn’t want to get barred from Jungle just for fending off an unwanted advance.

            “Look. Guys. Seriously. I’m taken. He’s not feeling it. Back off.”

            “Oh well now you’ve set down a challenge,” one of them said. “Now I’m even more determined to at least get one of you to have a drink.”

            Stiles was about to lose it when a heavy arm fell on his shoulder.

            “He said he was taken,” Derek growled imposingly.

            Stiles didn’t know how they reacted because he was looking into his boyfriend’s face with disbelief. He got halfway through asking what Derek was doing here, when the man took him firmly into his grasp and kissed him passionately.

            Stiles had no idea what was happening to him. He was lost in the kiss, amongst its mountains and valleys, wondering in the whirl of Derek’s tongue. The world was dead apart from the places where Derek touched him. The taste of his tongue and the scent of his saliva, the way his hands were holding him firmly, hauling him in so tightly that Stiles thought he might break. And he didn’t care! He didn’t care if every bone in his body broke, as long as this kiss didn’t end.

            Unfortunately it did. As they broke apart they were both shaking with supressed desire. Stiles was struggling to remember how to breathe, every exhale rattling in his chest. Derek’s face still pressed in close, resting himself so that as much of his skin was pressing into Stiles as he could possibly manage. The baseline of the music seemed like a magnified throbbing of their racing heartbeats. All Stiles wanted was for his senses to return to him enough that he could grab this man and drag him to the nearest place where they could rip each other’s clothes off in peace.

            “Wow,” he heard Allison say with awe. “That was hot!”

            Stiles let his face tilt away from Derek’s slightly so he could see all of his friends gathered, watching the two of them with shocked faces. It was the first time any of them had ever seen Stiles and Derek kiss. Really kiss.

            “Now I get this,” said Boyd sagely.

            “You didn’t before,” asked Stiles. His voice was still wobbling.

            He pulled away from Derek a bit more but was still reluctant to let go. He kept expecting Derek to disappear back of into the smoky mists of the club.

            “I thought this wasn’t your kind of scene,” he asked Derek.

            “I changed my mind. I didn’t like the thought of you having fun without me.” Derek’s voice was a low growl. “Just as well I did.”

            Stiles laughed and kissed Derek again, a much calmer kiss but it still made him feel like he was on fire all over. He felt Derek begin to steer him backwards, probably towards the nearest vertical surface. This was not a situation Stiles had any objection too but someone barrelled into them and thrust the two of them apart. Derek looked like he would happily murder whoever had separated them but Stiles pushed him back when her realised it was Danny his boyfriend was on the verge of eviscerating.

            “Jesus Danny. What are you doing?”

            “What the fuck is going on?” Danny asked, addressing the pair of them.

            “I’m making out with my boyfriend,” said Derek. “What the fuck are you doing?”

            Despite everything else, Stiles felt the thrill of wonder he felt every time Derek showed there was more to them than just sex now.

            “Boyfriend,” said Danny. His eyes were wide with shock. “You said he was your cousin.”

            “Cousin? Oh. My cousin Miguel.” Stiles looked across at Derek, his old deception back to haunt him. “It’s, um, very distant. Like fifth cousin, four times removed-”

            “I’m Derek. Derek Hale,” he said to cut him off before he really got going.

            “You’re Derek?” asked Danny. “The guy that’s been calling Isaac all the freaking time?”

            “I wouldn’t have to if he’d actually pick up the phone,” Derek grunted at him.

            “It’s kind of a long story,” Stiles jumped in. “Very boring. You don’t want to hear it.”

            “So you’re sleeping with Stiles,” asked Danny, ignoring him.

            “Yes,” said Derek.

            Stiles could hear the fangs in Derek’s voice and closed the gap between them again. He felt the tension ease as he put his arms around Derek’s waist.

            “You’re Derek Hale,” Danny asked. He looked like he was trying to fathom a particularly challenging Maths problem.

            “Yes,” said Derek. Monosyllabic. Returned to default settings, Stiles noticed.

            “Derek is sleeping with Stiles?”

            “Yes, what about this is so hard to grasp?” said Derek.

            “So, you’re not sleeping with Isaac?” said Danny, pointing at his ex.

            “What!” said Stiles.

            “What!” said Derek.

            “What!” said Isaac.

            Danny was wrong. He had to be. There was no way that Derek would sleep with someone else, let alone Isaac. Right? Sure, they lived together so there was ample opportunity and they both obviously liked the D but this was Derek. Derek was his. Stiles’.

            Stiles’ brief moment of doubt was quelled the second he looked at Derek’s face. Of course he wasn’t sleeping with Isaac. He loves you, Stiles reminded himself. Only you.

            “Who the hell told you I was sleeping with Isaac?” asked Derek carefully. He was doing that intense quite thing he did when he was suppressing his rage. Stiles tightened his grip on his arm to try and keep his boyfriend calm.

            “No one,” said Danny, “but I’ve seen the two of you out in the woods. Why would two guys be out in the woods like that if they weren’t hooking up?”

            Because they’re werewolves in training for the next apocalypse, thought Stiles. They should just tell Danny everything and be done with it!

            “You followed me?” said Isaac, stepping forward.

            “What was I supposed to do Isaac!” Danny exclaimed. “You run off all the time, don’t tell me where you’re going, what you’re doing. I accidentally see a couple of texts from some guy on your phone with times and dates and then I see you with Mr Greek God. What was I meant to think? You’re supposed to be my boyfriend but I’ve got no idea who you really are!”

            Or what you really are, thought Stiles. From Isaac’s flinch he could tell the were’ was thinking the same.

            “So you followed me?” said Isaac.

            “Yeah. Yeah I did because I love you Isaac. I was beginning to picture, I don’t know, how we were going to manage at college and where we’d buy our first place together but how can I hope to be happy with someone who keeps running off on me all the time?”

            “You were?” said Isaac, slightly breathless.

            “That’s not the point!” Danny said, waving his hands. “None of that even matters, because I can’t fall that hard for someone who doesn’t tell me why some guy called Derek fucking Hale is calling him every five minutes and leaving a dozen messages on his answering machine!”

            Isaac looked at Derek, panic on his face. He wanted to tell. He wanted to say everything to Danny.

            “I was trying to organise a training session,” said Derek.

            Isaac frowned at him. What was Derek up to? Was he actually about to spill the beans? Here? Now?

            “Training, what training? Isaac what the hell is going on!”

            “Personal training,” said Derek smoothly. “I’m just starting up so Isaac said he’d be my guinea pig, working out techniques and stuff.”

            “Isaac?” said Danny, not quite buying the story.

            “Yes. He said he wanted to make first line on the lacrosse team but he was kind of embarrassed that he needed some help, so we kept it on the down low.”

            “Scott put Isaac onto him,” said Stiles joining in with the lie, seeing all the fake connections leap into the air. Scott was looking bemused pointing at himself. “Scott’s been going to Derek since last year, haven’t you Scott? Remember how he came back in September last year, suddenly God’s gift to the team? This guy.”

            Danny was frowning. He didn’t quite believe the story but, from a certain point of view, it was all true. Danny shook his head and turned to Isaac.

            “Why didn’t you just tell me this Isaac? Why let me think you were cheating on me?”

            “I was scared,” said Isaac. He moved in close to Danny, fixing his stare. “I thought you might think less of me. That I needed help to get on the team.”

            “You do realise that makes no sense, right?” said Danny. “I don’t give a crap about any of that. I just want to you be honest with me! That’s all I ever wanted.”

            “Is it still what you want?” asked Isaac, the question loaded with so much more than what it said.

            Danny looked him in the eye. Slowly, he nodded.

            “Isaac I broke up with you because you were lying to me. Not because I stopped loving you.”

            Isaac broke into one of his knee weakening crying smiles and threw his arms around Danny’s neck. Whatever they were saying to each other now was lost as they buried themselves into each other necks’. Stiles snuggled in closer to Derek as they left the two of them, job done.

            A man tapped Derek on his shoulder, offering him a napkin with a number scribbled on it.

            “If you’re looking for new clients,” he said, “feel free to give me a call.”

            The unashamed lechery made Stiles laugh. When the next dozen napkins and business cards came flying though, he did feel just the slightest bit threatened.

            “I might actually take up a career as a personal trainer. I have all the contacts I need now,” Derek said into Stiles ear when they finally managed to leave the crowd of potential new clients. “I did good right?”

            “Yeah. You did good, but right now we need to go somewhere where I can do _you_ good. Like right now!”

            Derek grinned, picked Stiles up by the waist, threw him over his shoulder and ran for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was slightly worried about having the 'pushy gay, won't say no' stereotype, but I've had/seen this situation with pushy gentlemen myself (myself being a most volumptious lady) enough to know that some guys can be pushy wankers and some guys can be gay. In the Venn diagram of life there will be some intersection.
> 
> If you want to read the scene in the car -> [Lover's in the Backseat](http://archiveofourown.org/works/753947). Go read it. It's funny.


	6. Aconitum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's trouble afoot in Beacon Hills. Must be Tuesday.

            There was a definite spring in Stiles’ step when he came down the stairs the next morning.

            “Good morning,” he said, walking over to the cereal.

            “You sound far too chipper for someone who was out until 1am,” said his Dad looking up from the news that was playing on the TV.

            “What can I say? It was a freaking amazing night!”

            Derek had carried Stiles to his Jeep and the pair of them proceeded to have some pretty mind blowing, if highly awkward and uncomfortable, sex on the back seat. The ‘spring in Stiles’ step’ might have had a little bit to do with the angle his leg had been at to stop himself falling into the footwell and the subsequent cramp it caused. Afterwards the pair of them had earned a round of applause, which was rather disconcerting since he hadn’t realised anyone was watching them. To be honest at that point Stiles hadn’t really cared, but voyeurism was definitely not going to end up on his list of groovy things to do in the bedroom. Or outside of it for that matter.

            Derek had snuck in with Stiles and they’d spent the night together, whispering sweet nothings to each other until at some point they’d fallen asleep.

            He’d been gone when Stiles woke up. Stiles hated when that happened but sometimes it was a necessity.

            “Who was it you were helping to get over their breakup or whatever it was you said?” asked Stiles’ Dad.

            “Isaac,” said Stiles. He’d been kind of vague on the details when he’d called his Dad to tell him he’d be out a bit late the previous night. In truth it had been more like 2 am when they’d crept in but his Dad had already fallen asleep in front of the TV. “Breakup didn’t last very long though. They’re back together again now.”

            “Good for him,” said his Dad. He laughed, the fickleness of teenage relationships amusing him. It was odd. None of his friends had your typical teenage romance. More the ‘ _I will steal, die and kill for you, love me forever’_ kind of romance. All the emotions were so heightened. Perhaps it was a wolf thing. If it hadn’t meant using words like ‘forever’ he might have asked Derek about it. They weren’t quite at the ‘forever’ stage yet.

            Still wrapped in a fluffy cloud of contentment he sat down and flicked his eyes to the TV. The news crews were standing outside a building that looked familiar even though he couldn’t place it.

            “It was at this club that the victims of the poisoning spent last night. Police and medical examiners are still in the early stages of investigating…”

            “We haven’t even started yet,” his Dad muttered.

            “You know about this?” asked Stiles.

            “Just got the call. Group of kids got hospitalised with vomiting and diarrhoea, all the fun stuff. The doctors aren’t sure what’s actually wrong with them just yet.”

            Back on the news they’d returned to the studio.

            “Are there any indications of what might have made the group sick?” asked the anchor.

            “No,” said the roving reporter. “Suspicions are that it might have been a reaction to some tainted drugs or perhaps food poisoning from the restaurant they ate at earlier.”

            “Straight in with the drugs!” his Dad exclaimed. “It was one high-school party, now their seeing rat poison laced cocaine in every case of stomach flu?”

            “Come again?” asked Stiles.

            “You remember when Lydia had her birthday party like a year ago? Well that night the hospital got a dozen cases of people from that party showing up talking about hallucinations. It was probably someone brought in a bad joint, I’m not besmirching Lydia’s good name, but ever since then the reporters have been trying to find a massive drug problem in Beacon Hills that just doesn’t exist. This is obviously a case of food poisoning, but instead they decide of stand outside of the only gay club in town and make it look like there’s a massive drug problem.”

            “This happened at Jungle?” Stiles looked back at the screen. He’d never seen it during the day. It looked just like any other building in that part of town. “That’s where we were last night.”

            “You were a gay club?” his Dad asked.

            “Yeah. We were cheering up Isaac, remember. He got dumped by his _boy_ friend.”

            “Sure you weren’t there with _your_  boyfriend,” his father niggled.

            Stiles slammed his cutlery back down on the table in annoyance.

            “Yes, actually. He showed up just as some guy was getting real pushy and threatened to rip his throat out if he didn’t leave me alone.”

            His Dad laughed. Too over the top. Of course he wouldn’t believe that. What kind of guy threatens to rip people’s throats out?

            “Whatever you say son. We’ll get the bottom of it eventually,” said his Dad, pointing back at the TV. “We always do, even when the bottom of it is weird as hell.”

            Oh if only you knew Dad. If only you knew.

 

*****

 

            Three days later Stiles and his Dad were sitting down to a nice healthy dinner of fish and salad.

            “This isn’t food,” his Dad insisted, poking a lettuce leaf. “Not unless you’ve got long ears and a fluffy tale.”

            Stiles told his Dad to shut up and eat it. He hated having this conversation now. His aunt had told him once his insistence on keeping his Dad’s diet a healthy one was brought on by his foresight letting him know that his father would have died of a heart attack a few years from now if he didn’t step in. The knowledge scared the hell out of him but it also made him more determined than ever to make sure his Dad ate right. Even if it killed _him_ in the process.

            “You know making me eat this is probably going to lower my blood pressure to dangerous levels,” his Dad said.

            “And when that happens we’ll see about letting you have steak again. For now, eat your greens.”

            “I’m fairly sure that’s my line. As the Dad.”

            “So how’s work,” said Stiles attempting to change the subject.

            His Dad sighed but took the bait. “Alright. No murders or weird animal things gone on in a while. That’s great. Oh, we got the toxicology reports back on those kids at that club you were at.”

            “Oh,” said Stiles.

            The local papers had been running the story since it had happened. Coming at it from every angle. Drugs. Food poisoning. A brand new strain of Asian flu that would kill us all.

            “Yeah. Weirdest damn thing. It was poisoning by some plant with a weird name. Antimony? No that’s not it.”

            “Antimony is an element. Probably not very good for you.”

            “No it was definitely a plant. Ac-something. They showed me a picture of it. Pretty flower. Purple.”

            “Aconitum?” asked Stiles, trying to hide the apprehension on his face.

            “Could be,” his Dad said. “Sounds about right. They think it might have been some new herbal thing kids were taking to get high. Can't understand it though. Nausea, diarrhoea, vomiting, irregular heartbeat. Doesn't sound like my idea of a fun weekend.”

            “Perhaps,” said Stiles. “Could be some weird combination thing. You know, like peanut butter and chocolate.”

            “Reese’s peanut butter cups don’t make you crap out your lower intestines. This stuff does.”

            Stiles picked up that day’s local paper that was still sitting on the side. The cover story was the unfortunate group of kids that had been afflicted. They were a few years older than Stiles, all smiling happily in a photo that had been taken earlier that night before they’d all been taken ill. There were two girls, one blonde the other black haired, and a handful of guys, one of them a muscular black man. It could have been easy to mistake his own group of friends for this one in the dark of the bar if you didn’t know them.

            “Could have been a mistake,” Stiles said trying to sound blasé. “Thought they were taking Beacon Hills answer to magic mushrooms when really it was this stuff.”

            “Unfortunately, that looks unlikely. It’s the same stuff that was found on the kids from Lydia’s party.”

            Stiles made a semi interested hum. He wanted to quiz his father on every detail about the poisonings, both of them, but he didn’t want to draw attention. The second his Dad thought he was searching he’d shut him out and this was too important. He needed to find out who was responsible for this. They’d never worked out who was behind it at Lydia’s party. There had been more pressing matters and they’d just kind of assumed it was Matt. But Matt was dead, this couldn’t be him. Stiles finished up his dinner and ran upstairs, dialling Derek as he went.

            “Hey honey, you there?” he asked.

            “You sound breathless. You usually only sound that way after I’m through with you?” he said in a sultry voice.

            “Derek listen,” he said hoping the urgency would make his plea heard. “Something’s happened. You know those kids that got ill from Jungle that night we were there?”

            He quickly ran through all the details he’d just found out.

            “What are you saying Stiles?” asked Derek when he was done.

            “I don’t know yet but I think someone is trying to poison the pack with Wolf’s Bane, and they don’t care who else they hurt along the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you are plot. I was wondering when you'd show up.


	7. Tá mo chroí istigh inonat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson does report in one night, so Stiles goes to check up on him and take care of some unfinished business.

            Derek had declared a pack wide state of high alert as soon as Stiles reported his suspicious. True, that’s all they were at the moment, suspicions, but they’d learned too much not to be cautious. The alpha was making his entire pack check in throughout the day, reporting anything that seemed even vaguely suspicious. Most of them found it rather tedious but did it anyway. Derek was trying to be a good leader after all and how long did it to take a text saying ‘Still not Dead’ every few hours?

            Of course there was always one who held out. Jackson. He might not see himself as part of Derek’s pack officially but Derek did. He’d turned him; that made Jackson his responsibility. The boy hadn’t called in that night and his phone kept diverting, so Stiles offered to go check on him. Besides, the two of them had some unfinished business he’d been meaning to take care of.

            The Whittemore house was insane. It was some ridiculously modern white thing with more glass than walls. Stiles felt intimidated just looking at it. He pulled his backpack tighter to himself and knocked on the door. The maid answered. The freaking maid! Did they have a butler too?

            She ushered him inside and made him wait in the hall. The Whittemore’s had revoked the restraining order against Stiles and Scott after the events of three months earlier. Jackson’s parents didn’t know exactly what had happened but they knew that without Stiles they never would have seen their son again. When Mr Whittemore found Stiles waiting in his hallway he walked straight up and shook the boy’s hand, thanking him for the thousandth time until Jackson came downstairs. He didn’t look too happy at Stiles turning up unannounced but led him into the dining room so they could talk in private about their ‘chemistry project’.

            “What do you want Stilinski?” he asked. Jackson had calmed down a lot since he returned from his self-imposed exile but he was still very frosty when it came to Stiles. Understandable now that Jackson and Lydia where very much back together, considering her and Stiles’ past dalliance.

            “Is that anyway to greet the man who saved both your life and your sanity?” he asked.

            Jackson leant against the table to glare at Stiles.

            “Your point Stilinski?” asked Jackson.

            “Jesus. Remind me never to save your ass again, or anything other part of you for that matter.”

            Stiles dumped his bag onto the table and started to unzip it when his phone chirped to let him know he had a text. He read it quickly and laughed out loud.

            “That Scott, the Seigfreid to your Roy?” Jackson asked.

            “Nope, Lydia. Just one of our funny little jokes.”

            “I’m so glad that my girlfriend is sending you funny little text at all hours of the night.”

            “All hours? It’s like half eight,” said Stiles. “We send each stuff all the times Jackson. We’re friends.”

            “Friends?” said Jackson. He walked towards Stiles until he was right up against him. “You were a little bit more than friends though weren’t you?”

            The whites of his eyes were showing all around his irises as he tried to impress on Stiles the level of his anger.

            “Oh my god. We’ve been over this a thousand times. Nothing happened.”

            To any real degree, he added in his head. There had been a night with some brief near naked groping and a whole heap of kissing going on but that was all in the past. He and Lydia had moved on. Jackson, not so much.

            “I know that ‘nothing happened’ stuff is bullshit Stiles. Lydia told me everything. She told me about how she came to your house when they just picked her up. She was looking for support and you took advantage of her-”

            “I took advantage of her?” said Stiles in disbelief. “Is that what she said, her exact words?”

            He could tell from the way Jackson’s jaw clenched that it wasn’t.

            “No. Not in so many words.”

            “She kissed me,” said Stiles, making each word deliberate. “She came into my room, crying her eyes out and when she tried to kiss me I pushed her away because while it might make me the world’s biggest idiot, I’m not _that_ guy. But you knew that already, didn’t you? Don’t try taking your own guilt out on me. I wasn’t the one that beat the crap out of her, that was you. I know you weren’t in your right mind but that doesn’t change the fact that you did it. She was a mess, Jackson. You weren’t there so you don’t know but the only person she let see her like that was me. What did you want me to do? Leave her to slowly go insane? To think that every creak at night was you coming to get her?”

            Stiles dropped his hands to his waist and stared at Jackson, daring him to say anything. Jackson couldn’t bring himself to hold Stiles’ eyes.

            “You don’t have to worry about me and Lydia anyway,” Stiles carried on. He felt a little sorry for the guy. He was trying to be a better person. Okay, Stiles wasn’t sorry at all, he just pitied him. “She’s with you, 100% and I’ve got Derek. I think if anything did happen his threats to tear people’s throats out would become a lot more serious.”

            “And I’m the one who’s possessive. What even was that the other night?” asked Jackson, referring to Stiles and Derek’s make out session.

            Stiles face broke into a grin he couldn’t control remembering his big, strong boyfriend rushing into defend his honour. Not that he couldn’t have defended his own honour but sometimes it was nice to have a white knight throw you over the back of his loyal steed and ride off with you into the sunset. Or ride you until sunset. It depended on the situation.

            “That was my boyfriend being awesome,” he said. “He has a low level of background awesome but he sometimes gets an awesome build up and he has to just let a massive ball of awesome out all in one go.”

            “When you say awesome, you mean sex right?” asked Jackson.

            “Hey, that’s your mind, not mine. Don’t point that dirty look at me.”

            Jackson shook his head and started to pace away towards Stiles’ backpack that lay open. The corner of a cardboard file poked out the top of it.

            “Do you have a point Stilinski or did you just come here to berate me about my girlfriend and brag about how great yours is?”

            Stiles felt the smile fall off of his face. He walked over and pulled out the file, feeling the weight of it in his hand. It was a good four inches thick by this point. It weighed a tonne.

            “I thought you might want this,” he said holding it out to Jackson. “It’s everything that the Sentinels and my aunt dug up on your parents. Your real parents.”

            Jackson stared at the file dumbly but made no move to take it. They’d explained a little about Jackson’s parents to him at the time, or rather Lydia had. He’d claimed that he didn’t care his mother was a faery or that her betrothed had been the one to rig their car to drive off that bridge. It was obvious he was lying.

            “You can do whatever you want with it,” said Stiles, “but I should warn you; it’s everything. Mostly it’s just boring stuff like bank records and insurance details but their autopsy reports are in there as well. With pictures. I thought this might be what you really want though,”

            Stiles took a large envelope from his bag, pulling out a water damaged photo of a beautiful young couple smiling from the booth of a diner. The woman’s arms were resting on a belly that looked to be in the mid-stages of pregnancy. On the back was written _Me, James and our son, April 21 st_.

            “The guy had it in the pocket of his coat.”

            Jackson looked at it in Stiles’ hand for a moment before snatching it off him. He looked at it with a fixed expression, betraying no emotion. His fingers caressed the edge of the photo.

            “What else?” he asked. His voice was shaking even if his body wasn’t.

            “Bits and pieces,” said Stiles handing him the envelope. “His wallet, a couple of things from her purse, her jewellery.”

            Jackson tipped something out of the box onto his palm. Two gold rings. The larger of the two had an inscription on the inside.

            _Tá mo chroí istigh inonat_.

            “Apparently it means ‘my heart lies within you’. It’s gaelic, faery language.”

            Jackson tightened his hand around them, gripping them tightly. His other hand rested on the folder that now lay on the table, unopened.

            “Thanks,” said Jackson.

            “There’s a map of the cemetery in there as well,” said Stiles. “I marked on where they’re buried.”

            “Did you go there,” Jackson snapped.

            “No,” said Stiles. “That’s your place. Not mine.”

            Jackson nodded slowly. Stiles knew when it was time to leave a person to their grief. He zipped up his bag and began to back out of the room.

            “Saturday,” said Jackson just as Stiles was about to leave.

            “Pardon?”

            “My Dad is having this massive party, told me to invite some friends. If you’re free you should come. Allison, Lydia, Isaac, Scott, all the rest of them are already coming, I suppose you might as well come along too. Plan is to hang around at the party then move on to a club somewhere afterwards. Don’t bring Derek though. Dad’s an attorney and Derek…”

            “Looks like the world’s most gorgeous serial killer, I get it,” said Stiles. His ancient detestation of Jackson weighed heavily but he was trying to reach out. He should take it, for Lydia’s sake if no one else. “Thanks. I’ll be there.”

            Stiles turned to go again. He was halfway out the door when Jackson asked: “Why didn’t you shoot me? I can’t remember much from when I was rabid but I can remember you pointing a gun at my head and that you didn’t pull the trigger, even though I was about to rip your head off. Why didn’t you do it?”

            Stiles adjusted his backpack. Jackson had claimed to have no memory at all of that night. It was easy to see why. Who would want to remember killing, or trying to kill, as many people as Jackson had done over the last year.

            “It was too easy,” said Stiles, trying to make it sound like a joke when he was deadly serious. When it’s easy to kill someone, that’s when you stop being human. “Take care of Lydia or I’ll do a hell of a lot worse than shoot you.”

            “Really? I know you’re like the paranormal Superman these days but seriously, what could _you_ do to me?”

            There was Jackson’s macho posturing, back with a vengeance. Stiles had been doing his research on the vast collection of books that the Council kept sending him. He’d been reading up on all the things a member of the Weiss Rat could do. And all the things they could undo.

            “You’d be surprised. I hope you never find out how much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is apparently a common thing to say at Irish weddings. I have no idea how you pronounce it.


	8. Tied Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles come round to lend Isaac a neck tie but Derek can think of a better use for it than around Lahey's neck.

            “ _Stiles…_ ”

            Stiles was lost amongst the mountains and valleys of Derek’s body. Lend Isaac a necktie and give him a ride to Jackson’s party. That was what was supposed to have happened but Derek had taken one look at the tie and his eyes had told Stiles’ there was a better place to put it than around Lahey’s neck. Stiles was still as addicted to Derek as he ever was. Sometimes all it would take was a glance, a single look, and that was it. Their will was not their own anymore but had been surrendered to the bond they shared. Saying ‘no’ would have been a violation of the most fundamental laws of the universe.

            Derek could have easily shredded the strip of polyester that bound his wrists to the headboard but that only made it more tantalising. He was willingly submitting to Stiles, giving himself over entirely and by God if that wasn’t the most arousing thing ever, Stiles didn’t know what was.

            “Sorry,” said Stiles as he kissed Derek’s nearly naked body. “I have to go soon, you know that.”

             “I know,” breathed Derek heavily.

            Derek moved his hips, pushing the hard on that was peeking out the top of his boxers into Stiles’ hip. He was going to make Stiles come in his suit, for the love of God. This was the only suit he owned! Why did stupid Jackson have to have his stupid party tonight? He’d never floated the idea of this before, binding Derek up so that Stiles could have his wicked way. Despite the number of times it had come up in his fantasies and day dreams, Stiles knew enough of Derek’s past to realise he might have an objection to being trussed up and dominated like this. Finding that Derek not only didn’t mind but was getting off on the idea meant there was a lot of catching up to do.

            The werewolf’s eyes were closed, leaving Stiles to do whatever he wanted. Blindfolds next time, thought Stiles, and something to tie up Derek’s ankles. Belts? Maybe he could grab some ice cubes and _Goddamn you Jackson!_

            “Maybe I should just leave you tied up here,” said Stiles. “Go to the party, come back and have you all ready and waiting for me.”

            Derek kicked up his legs and wrapped them around Stiles’ hips, jerking in so that Stiles collapsed on top of him. He laughed deep in his throat as Stiles began to make out with him properly. Keeping his hands in constant contact with Derek’s body, Stiles kissed and licked every portion he could lay his tongue to. He wanted to tear off this ridiculously uncomfortable suit and smother Derek with the rest of his body but he’d made the resolution in his mind. Clothes were going to remain firmly on. He was just going to give Derek a quick blow job, then he’d grab Isaac and they’d go.

            Stiles carefully took Derek’s cock between his teeth, gently grazing the fabric that still held his erection in check. Derek groaned even lower, his wrist pulling on the knots that bound him.

            There was a knock at the door and Stiles froze.

            “Just thought I should let you know that Lahey left without you, lover boy,” came Peter’s drone through the door. “He would have come to get you but he could hear that you two were a little ‘tied up’ at the moment.”

            “Okay, thanks, buh-bye,” said Stiles.

            He watched Derek going limp before him. Knowing a relative could hear you having sex was never an aphrodisiac. Stiles sighed and bounced up to lie beside Derek, looking at the door. It was barely on its hinges, with a massive crack right through the centre. In a house full of werewolves it might as well not be there at all.

            “You need to get this place fixed up,” said Stiles draping himself over Derek. If Isaac wasn’t waiting for him he could linger for a little while. “There are three people living here now. I know you have all the essentials: water, electricity, wi-fi but you could get a few mod-cons. Like a roof that actually covers the whole of the house.”

            Derek laughed, rolling his head so that Stiles could look at the full glory of his smile, the smile he only ever showed him.

            “Maybe you’re right.”

            “Heating would be nice too,” said Stiles. He grabbed a nearby blanket and threw it over the pair of them, snuggling in close to take advantage of Derek’s extra body heat. “You  might have a resting temperature of a thousand degrees but the rest of us mere mortals can suffer from hypothermia you know.”

            “Would you stay over more it we had heating?” asked Derek.

            “I’d stay nakeder.”

            “Boiler goes in tomorrow.”

            Stiles lifted himself up on his elbows and kissed Derek. He let out a contented sigh.

            “You should probably untie me at some point,” said Derek, shaking his wrists.

            Stiles looked at the bed head that Derek was tied to. It was an iron frame which had survived the fire but like everything in this house it still bore scorch marks as a reminder of past tragedies, Derek included.

            “I should but you just look so damn sexy like this. I love how it makes all the muscles along your side bulge out. I didn’t even know there were that many muscles. I think you’ve added in a couple to make me feel bad.”

            “I love your muscles just as they are Stiles,” said Derek nuzzling against him. “I’d love them if you were a bulked out wrestler or a skinny little runt. I just love you.”

            Stiles grinned like a lunatic. He always did when Derek told him he loved him like that. When his whole body said it. When his eyes said it. When everything that was Derek said it and meant it. And now he was leaving this man for a party he didn’t even want to go to.

            “I don’t wanna go,” whined Stiles.

            “Then don’t,” said Derek, only half joking.

            “I have to. I told Jackson I’d come. He’s trying to reach out and actually become a decent human being. He’s trying to mend bridges with me now he realises I wasn’t the one being a total ass with Lydia.” Derek grumbled but didn’t say anything. “Oh come on. You’re not still obsessing over that are you?”

            “I don’t have a problem with Lydia,” said Derek. Easily, he twisted his wrists round and freed himself from the bonds without tearing the tie. “It’s just hard you know. It just makes me think back to why you were with her and not with me.”

            “And that’s it?” asked Stiles. He ran the backs of his finger nails along the curves of Derek’s jaw line. “You don’t have a problem with Lydia at all.”

            “No,” said Derek emphatically. He looked at Stiles. “Maybe. A little bit. Okay, a lot.”

            “There we go,” said Stiles. He ran his fingers through the hair on Derek’s temple and held on. He spoke with calm and authority. “Now look at me Derek. Look right here, in the face. I'm only going to say this once and it's going to be really romantic so pay attention. I love you. You are the only person I have ever loved. I thought I loved Lydia, but the second I started loving you, I knew what a crock that was. Everything I felt for her, the ten years I spent obsessing over her, are nothing compared to one second with you. You are the reason I get up in the morning. Every time my phone rings I get excited because I think it might be from you and when it's not my heart break a little but it's okay, because when it is you I'm flying at thirty thousand freaking feet. I love you. Only you. So stop worrying.”

            The words had been so easy to say. They were sat there in his head waiting to be said but Derek was looking at him like he’d read out some long lost gospel of the bible. Awe, wonder, and above all, love.

            Derek’s hand came up and cusped the edge of Stiles’ face, drawing him in close. The tie was still wrapped around his wrist.

            “I love you,” Derek breathed into Stiles mouth before kissing him. Slowly at first, then deeper and more lustful.

            Derek lowered the both of them down onto the bed while Stiles wrapped himself around Derek’s body.

            “Love you too,” said Stiles, “and stuff.”

            Derek’s arms around him were robbing him of both his breath and his senses. He didn’t register Derek’s hands sliding up his back and divesting him of his jacket. One moment it was on, then it was on the floor. He could feel Derek’s fingers sliding into the gaps between his dress shirt buttons, the hot tips brushing against his bare skin.

            “Stop, stop, stop,” said Stiles.

            He pushed Derek’s hands away. It was lacklustre but Derek relented. Their fingers entwined and neither of them could let go.

            “You should go,” said Derek.

            “Yup.”

            Stiles didn’t move. Instead he lay there, looking at where their fingers were tied up together. He ran his thumb across their knuckles, unsure of which were his and which were Derek’s.

            “I should be standing and leaving and…”

            “Stuff,” finished Derek helpfully.

            They looked at each other. Sometimes all it took was a look.

            “Think you can make it quick?” asked Stiles.

            “Oh yeah,” said Derek.

            Stiles pounced on Derek, pinning him to the bed once more. He grabbed the handy tie, still around Derek’s wrist and strapped him back down. Straddling him, Stiles started to take off his own tie when a flash of inspiration struck him. Grinding his hips to make Derek gasp he brought his own tie down between the man’s teeth, holding the fabric taught. Derek’s eyes flashed for a moment, before remembering who he was with.

            “Walls are thin round here,” said Stiles. Reaching back, he tied the gag in place. “You need to learn to be quiet. You’re not very good at that so we need to work on your self-discipline until you can, bad boy.”

             Stiles licked his lips. Well, in for a penny in for a pound. Who was to say two fetishes weren’t better than one?

            “You are a bad wolf, aren’t you? A Big. Bad. Wolf.”

            Stiles never made it to Jackson’s party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! I have just started writing up all the sex scenes that didn't make it into the main story for reasons and plot. The first is already up here -> Little Leather Riding Hood.
> 
> Now to go off and write Derek and Stiles doing it in the back of the Jeep followed by ice cubes, belts and all the ties Stiles owns.


	9. Missed Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles comes home to find his father waiting for him. Turns out Jackson's party didn't quite go as planned.

            It was one in the morning when Stiles eventually crept home. He and Derek been so exhausted that they’d passed out and only woken up when Isaac set the fire alarm off trying to cook a pizza in the Hale’s dilapidated oven. Smoke detectors had been one of the few DIY projects Derek had thought to do. It was already past Stiles’ curfew and he flew out the door in a panic with barely a good bye kiss.

            He was driving too fast. When you knew what every other car on the road was going to do and where every speed trap was it seemed pointless to stick to the limit. Stiles swung the car into the drive and quickly checked himself in the rear-view mirror. Did he look like he’d just spent the last four plus hours rolling around in bed having extremely kinky sex? A little. This was the problem with not having a buzz cut. He ran his fingers through until  it looked slightly less like sex hair.

            Damn! He’d left his tie at Derek’s. Well, at least it would be there for next time, thought Stiles barely able to supress a smile. Maybe next time he could get Derek to go on his knees as they _later Stiles, later!_

            His phone chirped and he looked down to see a dozen missed calls from his Dad. The reception up by Derek’s was terrible and they must have only just got through. He clicked on one of the texts he’d sent.

            _Where the hell are you! Call me, please, just let me know you’re okay._

Stiles pocketed it and got out, heading straight for the house. His Dad had said he could stay out late for Jackson’s party, and he wasn’t that much later than he said he’d be. Not enough to warrant this amount of panic. Something wasn’t right.

            “Hey Dad,” he called into the house. “Sorry I’m late. I only just got your messages, what’s up?”

            His Dad barrelled out of the kitchen, gripping tightly onto his son.

            “Thank God!” he said.

            It had been a while since his Dad had held him like this, like that if held him close enough he could keep him there forever.

            “I kept seeing you lying in a ditch somewhere and no one being able to find you,” said his Dad. “The others said they hadn’t seen you all evening. You weren’t at the party.”

            “I know I got tied up in something, never made it. Did something happen at the party Dad?”

            Trepidation was growing inside of Stiles. Were any of his friend’s hurt? They knew where he was, why hadn’t they just told his Dad? Because he’d been with Derek, that was why. They didn’t want to tell his Dad that ‘hey, Stiles is off engaging in kinky bondage sex with a guy whose six years his senior’.

            “Yeah. You could say that. You remember that club night you were at the other day?”

            “You mean Jungle? Yeah, I remember. Why? Did more people get sick?” A chill descended into the pit of Stiles’ stomach. He was right! He knew someone was targeting the pack. Now something had happened and Derek hadn’t been there because they’d been too busy screwing. “Is everyone alright? Scott, Isaac, the others. Are they all okay?”

            “All your friends are fine, they left for a club or something before anything went down but I just thought… I don’t know what I thought. Maybe you’d been attacked by vicious drug dealers or turned up, been poisoned before anyone knew you were there and were in a coat closet somewhere slowly dying of some stupid purple flower.”

            “I’m sorry Dad. If I’d have known I would have called straight away.”

            “You’re here, you’re home, you’re safe. That’s all I care about right now. We can worry about curfew breaking in the morning.”

            His Dad hugged him again and they walked into the kitchen together.

            “What happened this time?”

            “We got a call at about half ten. People were suffering from hallucinations and vomiting. It was some fancy shindig with Mr Whittemore, esquire. He was not happy. Someone linked the symptoms to the thing at Jungle and thought there might be something wrong. They were even less pleased when I suggested someone might be dealing bad drugs at their fancy ass party.”

            Stiles laughed. He could just imagine Mr Whittemore’s face. No one would ever dream of dealing drugs at one of his parties, how dare the Sheriff suggest such a thing! The fact that it was near certain at least one person would be in a back room dealing coke was irrelevant.

            “They’re all in hospital. It’s a lot easier to treat them now that we know what’s wrong with them. Now we just have to track down the source. This used to be a quiet town. Nothing interesting ever happened here. Now we’re the weird-ass murder capital of California, some crazy drug dealer’s on the loose and the only lead I’ve got is that one of the kids who was at Jungle the other night just had a Missing Persons report filed?”

            “I thought they were all in hospital still?” asked Stiles.

            “Most of them were but one of their group came in with just a headache. Now he’s gone. He was some straight laced office worker, near as I can tell. Nothing to suggest he’d be involved any more than just being out with friends, but it’s always the quiet ones. A smart dealer never touches his supply. Promise me something Stiles.”

            “Anything Dad,” he replied.

            “I don’t care if you boost cars, get drunk every night or sleep with all the guys I have ever arrested, you do not touch a single pill, toke or tab until we’ve got this sorted.”

            “So I can after you catch the guy?”

            “Stiles,” his Dad warned.

            “Ok. I promise. No drugs. Not that I ever did anyway,” he added quickly. “I’m more a Jack Daniels and beer man myself. Take after my old man that way. Or so I would think as I have never had either of them at any point in my life, ever.”

            His Dad gave him a little shove.

            “Good. At least that has to get passed by the FDA.”

            “Never boosted a car, either. Have to ask Lydia how to do that. As for sleeping with guys you’ve arrested…” Stiles trailed off waiting for his Dad to pick up the ball. When he didn’t Stiles carried on. “Do you believe me about Derek now?”

            His Dad looked at the floor for a minute contemplating, then shook his head and laughed.

            “You can try all you want but you’re not fooling me. I know how you work son. If you steal a car I will arrest you and ground you for the rest of your natural life. I was being sarcastic. I believe you are familiar with the principal.”

            “Just because you don’t believe me doesn’t mean it’s not happening Dad.”

            “Sure Stiles. Whatever you say,” his Dad laughed patting him on the back and walked away muttering about taking a shower.

            Stiles leaned against the wall, suddenly very sad. He was beginning to realise that it wasn’t that his Dad _couldn’t_ believe he was dating Derek, it was that he didn’t _want_ to believe it. Was it the fact that the guy Stiles was dating was a twenty something year old who had once been in custody that bothered his Dad? Or was in the simple fact that it was a guy?

            Stiles knew his Dad would never be one of those Dad’s who’d call him an abomination, throw him out on the street and never talk to him again just because he’d fallen in love with another man, but that didn’t mean he’d immediately join PFLAG and get a rainbow sticker on his bumper either. Stiles had known when they’d told him that he might take some time to come to terms with it all. It was a lot to take in and his Dad had said to his face he believed that there was no way his son could be gay, okay bisexual, but he’d expected his Dad to… well he wasn’t quite sure what he expected but it wasn’t this.

            Stiles went up to his own room and listened through all of his Dad’s panicked messages starting from slightly concerned to downright frantic. There were a couple from his friends too, asking what they were supposed to say to his Dad. Should they say something about Derek? Did he need an alibi? Where was he?

            The final message was from Derek. Erica had run over with the news, trying to get Stiles in person only to find he’d left five minutes earlier. He hit return call.

            “Stiles,” Derek said. The sound of his voice made Stiles’ spirits lift. “Is everything okay? Scott told me what happened. Did your Dad flip out?”

            “No,” said Stiles sadly. “He was just happy I’m okay. I’ll probably get grounded for a month when he remembers to be angry so it will have to be happy times at Casa de Stilinski for a while.”

            “I can deal with that. What’s wrong? You sound sad.”

            Stiles didn’t know what to say. His Dad might have a problem with him and Derek dating? That was not a conversation he wanted to have now, or ever in fact. He’d always been a fan of ignoring the big issues until they went away.

            “It’s nothing. I’m just tired. You wore me out.”

            Derek chuckled down the phone.

            “I’m pretty exhausted myself. Your Dad have any idea who’s behind this?”

            “No, he still thinks it’s a drugs thing. Warned me I’m to stay away from all drugs until this gets sorted.”

            “You better,” said Derek.

            “Don’t worry. The only thing I’m getting high on is you.”

            “Thanks,” said Derek flatly.

            “Whatever this is I think they might be targeting the pack. Forget the fact that is was wolf’s bane. Tonight, Jungle, Lydia’s. All three times the pack was there. Three makes this a pattern.”

            “You think Lydia’s was related?” asked Derek.

            “It was nearly a year ago, but it was the same stuff. I think we have to at least consider that all three are related.

            “You are such a cop, you know that?” said Derek fondly.

            “What can I say? Dad’s a Sheriff. Aunt’s in the FBI. Must run in the family.”

            “It’s sexy. I like it.”

            “I could always ‘borrow’ my Dad’s handcuffs,” said Stiles.

            “Sure. Just make sure you get the keys as well. Tonight was fun, even if I did make you miss the party.”

            “All things considered, probably a good thing,” said Stiles. He gripped his phone harder, thinking of all the things that could have gone wrong. What if the pack hadn’t left when they did? What if he’d been there, would he have stopped it? What if Derek had been there as well? “Could you promise me that you’ll be careful? I know what you’re like, you’ll rush into this to protect the pack without thinking it through and I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”

            He had an image of Derek lying on Deaton’s table, the pack gathered round him howling. His eyes were open and cold while he held Stiles hand tightly, even in death.

            Just your imagination Stiles, he told himself. Not a vision, just your imagination.

            “I will if you will,” said Derek. “I know what I’d do if you got hurt. It wouldn’t be pretty.”

            “Deal,” said Stiles. “I love you. You know that, right.”

            “It’s the only thing I’ve been sure of in a long time, Stiles,” said Derek. “That and that I love you too.”

            Stiles leaned into the phone as if somehow he could get closer to Derek through the handset. He didn’t want to hang up. He wanted Derek to come around and spend the night with him. He wanted to come down to breakfast tomorrow morning and have his Dad greet the two of them with a big pile of pancakes and a warm smile. He wanted so many things. Instead he whispered goodbye and hung up the phone.


	10. Distinctly Sozzled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and his aunt are hot on the case of the Beacon Hills' Poisoner. Who are they and why are they doing this?

            “Could there be a group of hunters other than the Argents?” asked Stiles.

            Angela shook her head as she took another gulp of wine from her enormous glass.

            “Doubtful. We’d know about them if there were.”

            She set her glass down and got up from where she was sitting cross legged on the floor. They were at her apartment surrounded by all the information they’d drummed up about the poisonings. In her usual mysterious way, Angela had managed to get a hold of all the police and doctor’s reports on every case. In front of them lay a map of Beacon Hills with any location that might be vaguely relevant marked out, a pattern still waiting to emerge.

            “It doesn’t seem a hunter’s MO either,” she said. “They’re much more for the up close and personal, cut you in half with my fecking great sword. There’s too much damage to non-werewolves too. Hunters would be careful but these guys don’t care who they hit. And the first time at Lydia’s even if a werewolf had taken a dose of this stuff, it’s wasn’t strong enough to kill them. Sure they might vomit out a few organs but none of the vital ones.”

            “So it would be strong enough to kill one of them now?” asked Stiles. The image of Derek dying in his arms came into his head. But no. That was the wrong way round. He knew how he died: in Derek’s arms. He’d seen his death a year ago when he’d first taken the White and joined the Council.

            “That’s what Deacon tells me,” said Angela. “I ran the details past Peter, to see if he knows anything but no such joy. We could be dealing with a werewolf with an agenda of course. ‘Kill the humans the way they kill me and mine’.”

            “You seem to be spending a lot of time with Peter recently,” said Stiles. He’d lost count of the times he’d run into her while he was over at Derek’s place. She’d always looked a bit shifty when she was there for no real reason but that might have had more to do with the fact that Stiles was usually wearing little more than boxers or a towel. Her joke at Jungle the other night hadn’t helped ease his suspicions.

            “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Little Red,” she said knocking back the rest of her glass and pouring a second. “I’m not planning on going back down that particular alley any time soon. He’s just an old friend I’ve known for umpteen years. I’m the only person his age alive who knew his family for what they really were. Besides. I have a date next week. Two in fact.”

            “Two?” said Stiles, questioningly. “Playing the field?”

            “Trust me Stiles, this is not a conversation you want to have with me. But just remember if you have trouble getting a hold of me, don’t come looking.”

            She gave him a huge wink. This most definitely was not a conversation that he wanted to have.

            There was a crackle of static and they both turned to the table Angela had just been standing beside as her police scanner came to life.

            “I do not remember turning that on,” she said.

            “That probably means it’s important,” said Stiles getting up to listen closer.

            Whenever either of them did something unconsciously like that it usually meant that their power had kicked in, affording them a glimpse of the greater things to come.

            _“Calling all units. Calling all units. Suspected case of Anco… Anto… poisoning at the Highview Rec on the edge of the preserve. All available personnel report to Highview Rec. Ambulance services have already been notified.”_

_“Hey Clarissa, it’s Sheriff Stilinski. What’s the story?”_

Hearing his Dad’s disembodied voice across the speaker was kind of weird. Stiles suddenly felt like he was prying into something he shouldn’t be. In reality he had far more invested in this situation than his father ever would be.

            _“Some big business bash,”_ said dispatch. _“Where’s the name… Mears and Co Logistics and Operations, whatever that means. Rented out the huge building down there. The one that Harry got married in.”_

_“It’s the one_ I _got married in. How many we dealing with here?”_

_“Four people needing immediate hospitalisation but at least twenty others are reporting feeling nauseous and a few other symptoms.”_

_“Hallucinations?”_

_“That’s why I’m reporting it as another case of poisoning and not as bad shrimp.”_

_“If this is drugs then cocaine would be the most likely,”_ said Stiles’ Dad, thinking out loud as usual. _“But not on that scale, not at something like this.”_

            _“Maybe sir, but shouldn’t we leave the cross examination until after you’ve been to the scene.”_

_“Right Clarissa. Message received, I’m on my way. Over and out.”_

Angela ran her finger over the edge of her glass of wine.

            “I don’t suppose you know of any connection between the pack and Mears and Co Logistics and Operations?”

            “Nope,” said Stiles. What the hell even was ‘Logistics and Operations’?

            “That’s that idea out of the window. Fuck.”

            She walked over to where all the information was spread out on the floor. The map, the files, the reports, all of the little thoughts and imaginings they’d come up with. There hadn’t been much but there had been a start. Now there was nothing. All their theories had hinged on the pack being at the centre of things but now it looked like that was just a coincidence.

            “Fuck,” she said again.

            She picked up a file, reading over the hospital report from one of the hospitalised revellers at Jungle. She threw it on to a nearby table.

            “Fuck!”

            “Back to the drawing board,” said Stiles leaning and pulling up a laptop, typing Mears and Co into Google. It was as good a place to start as any.

 

*****

 

            Two hours later all they knew was that Mears and Co seemed to be an entirely normal and above board company that helped event planners get things from point A to point B, run smoothly, then get everything back to point A. The event in the park had been some big shin dig to celebrate their 75th anniversary. Angela had used her FBI contacts to go as deep into their murky past as possible. The only issue of note she could find was a misfiled tax return that had ended up in their favour. Nothing odd, nothing shady and nothing supernatural.

            “Either it was a mistake on the attacker’s part or our theory is completely wrong.”

            “My money’s on the theory,” said Stiles. He let out a screech of distress. “The first one at Lydia’s never fit the pattern, it was too long ago. That means we were just at two things. That makes it a coincidence. I mean the pack is a group of dysfunctional, hyperactive teenagers. While I will admit most of us aren’t exactly the social elite, we’re not completely anti-social. We like to party. We get around. I think we must have flashing a sign that says ‘weird ass drama, this way’. And now we have no idea who he’s going after.”

            “Hey, look on the bright side,” said Angela, swaying slightly. She was onto the second bottle by now. “At least McSexywolf is off the hook.”

            “You said it’s strong enough to kill a were’ now. What if someone _is_ after the pack but doesn’t know who the pack is? It’s only leathal to were’s. Most people it just makes them sick but they live. If they just wanted to flush out werewolves and weren’t too fussy about who gets hurt on the way, what better way to do it?”

            “You could be right. Someone who knows about the supernatural but not a part of it. Maybe… maybe it was the thing at Lydia’s that gave them the idea!” she said excitedly.

            “And they decided to take out werewolves with the same stuff. They hit the hottest club in town, a huge party with loads of people and a big business thing with hundreds. Lots of people all in one place.”

            They beamed at each other.

            “You do realise that we have absolutely no evidence to back this theory up,” said Angela was a big smile.

            “None whatsoever but that doesn’t stop it being a damn good theory.”

            She raised her glass to him and went to take a drink but missed her face and ended up pouring wine down the front of her top as the doorbell went.

            “Schizer,” she said. “Would you get that while I sort this?”

            Stiles walked to the front door and hit the buzzer.

            “Hello. Weisse residence. How might I direct your call today?”

            “Stiles? Good you are still here.”

            “Hello Dad,” he said loudly, aiming his face towards where Angela had disappeared. She suddenly rushed back into the room, her shirt half undone as she frantically started picking up all of the police and medical reports that were still festooned all over the floor. Chances were they had been obtained in a slightly less than legal manner.

            “Stiles, can you just let me in? I need to talk to you and Angela.”

            She waved her arms frantically, pointing at the mess still covering the floor. He shook his head at her. What was he supposed to do? Leave his Dad outside.

            “Hang on Dad. I can’t work this thing out. I’ll get Angela to buzz you in.”

            “Just give me the code Stiles.”

            “Uh… sure. Hang on. What was it again. Um. 2451… no 2460…”

            “Stiles.”

            “2461. That’s the number.”

            The sound of the door being opened came across the intercom. He rushed over and grabbed up the map, throwing it into Angela’s bedroom.

            “Seriously. This! This I could have used a super power warning on,” he hissed at his aunt.

            “You know it doesn’t work that way,” she spat back. “Who or whatever gave us this power in the first place has a fucking twisted sense of humour and wants all of us to suffer!”

            When the knock at the door came they’d managed to shove all of their evidence out of the way of his Dad’s prying eyes.

            Stiles tried his best to look nonchalant as he walked over to the door and opened it. He stretched himself out across the door, baring the way.

            “Hey Dad, what’s up?”

            “You’re my son Stiles. Don’t think I don’t know when you’re not stalling for time. What are you two up to here anyway?”

            As they walked into the room Angela performed an elegant wave that neatly knocked her empty bottle of wine out of sight into a nearby plant pot.

            “Hey there, good to see you,” she said. She was trying her best to not look like she’d been drinking for most of the afternoon. This, of course, only made her look even more inebriate.

            “Angela,” said Stiles’ Dad. He was beginning to welcome Angela into his and Stiles’ lives but he still didn’t trust her. She was a mass of riddles and contradictions, so similar to his beloved wife and yet so utterly different.

            “What brings you to my humble abode this fine evening?” she said trying to put on her usual flat demeanour and ending up sounding like a high German. Her accent strayed that way sometimes, to the land of her father’s people only to jag back to the Irish of her mother’s side. Drinking only made it worse.

            “Is it about the poisonings?” asked Stiles, before remembering he wasn’t supposed to know about them. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re here. At Aunt Angie’s. Because she’s with the FBI.”

            “To be sure,” she said.

            His Dad looked from Stiles back to Angela, back to Stiles.

            “No,” he said slowly. “Nothing to do with that. I was actually looking for you Stiles.”

            “Me,” said Stiles. “What do you want me for?”

            His Dad leant against the side of the couch and rested his fingers together, taking his time before asking.

            “Do you remember Mark Johnson?”

            “Hmm, let me see. Do I remember the nut job who held me up at gun point, the second nut job who held me at gunpoint that is. Mark not Matt, easy to confuse them. He’s the one who threatened to blast my brains out if the drug store didn’t hand him over all their drugs? The man who spent his entire trial ranting, telling the epic love story of Mark, the phone line repair man and Jane Roberts, the receptionist who ended up running off with the local Sheriff. The one that he’d constructed in his head because Mom never actually said four words to him and then got committed to an institution for the criminally insane? Nope can’t say the name rings a bell.”

            Stiles stared at his Dad for a second before registering his expression.

            “This is something bad right?”

            “He escaped custody last night,” said the Sheriff.

            “What!” said Angela. “That place was supposed to be max security. It was locked down tighter than regular prison! I checked it myself.”

            Stiles sat down heavily on the couch. Unconsciously his hand strayed up to his temple where the man had pressed in his gun. Stiles had seen his own death, knew it wasn’t then and it wasn’t there but the memory still sent chills down his spine. If he hadn’t been through much worse at that point then Stiles might have been the one to end up in the loony bin. Jesus. No wonder he was half crazy. He should probably ask Angela if they had specialist therapists who wouldn’t think you were mad the second you started talking about werewolves and faeries like they were real.

            “How did this happen?” he asked. “How did he break out?”

            “That’s the weirdest damn thing,” said his Dad. “He didn’t ‘break’ out. The door wasn’t forced and the security cameras didn’t show him leaving his cell. It’s like he just melted into thin air. I’d say it’s impossible but I’ve seen too many impossible things this last year that I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

            Angela and Stiles looked at each other. She held her nephew’s gaze as she spoke.

            “Seems like the kind of thing my department deals with.”

            “It is?” asked Stiles’ Dad. He knew she was an FBI agent but that was about all he knew. She was just his wife’s slightly weird twin sister who disappeared off for weeks at a time leaving a message asking Stiles to water the plants in her apartment.

            “Right up our alley. I’ll get right on it.”

            She walked away to use the phone in her bedroom. She stumbled a bit but made a quick recovery.

            “Is she wasted?” asked his Dad.

            “I think she prefers the term ‘distinctly sozzled’. Wasted comes in another bottle of wine.”

            Apparently one of the artefacts of having heritage from Ireland and going to university in London was fifty new ways to characterise the precise level of your drunkardness, a vocabulary that Angela was slowly introducing Stiles to.

            “I’m not sure how I feel about you hanging out with her so much.”

            Stiles didn’t say anything. He just glared at his father.

            “Okay. Fine! She’s your aunt. You should know her.”

            “If memory serves it was you who made sure I did.”

            “I said fine!” said his Dad. He crossed over and sat down on the couch beside Stiles. “At least she’s calling in the feds.”

            “Aren’t local police officers supposed to hate people calling in the feds?” he asked.

            “Maybe but when it’s my son who might be a target I don’t care if they call in the Home Guard, the Army, the Navy and the Air Force.”

            “Me?”

            “You’re the reason he ended up in that institute. Angela too.”

            “She was the one slamming his head against a car. Not me,” said Stiles, suddenly defensive.

            “Just promise me you’ll be careful son,” he said.

            “Aren’t I always?”

            The look on his Dad’s face told Stiles the answer was ‘No’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The British Drunkardness Scale (by no means a comprehensive listing):
> 
> Merry  
> Distinctly merry  
> Tispy   
> Inebriated  
> Sozzled  
> Sloshed  
> Trollied  
> Tired and Emotional  
> Legless  
> Hammered   
> Battered  
> Mullered  
> Bladdered  
> Tanked  
> Trashed  
> Lashed  
> Pissed/Pished  
> Wasted  
> Munted  
> Steamin’   
> Wrecked  
> Wankered  
> Arse holed  
> Rat arsed  
> Shit faced  
> Completely shit faced  
> Fucked  
> Totally fucked  
> Call me a taxi, I’m done.


	11. Homework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack are doing homework and Derek is working on his home.

            “dy? Where the hell did that come from and why am I dividing it by x” said Scott, staring down at the pad in front of him.

            “dx, Scott,” said Lydia. “It’s not divide, it’s derive. dy _by_ dx. Do you even pretend to pay attention in Math?”

            “I think the obvious answer is ‘No’, that’s why I need you to tell me how to do this crap so I don’t flunk the year.”

            “Well next time, maybe you could spend more time listening to Mr Hawkins than trying to flirt with your girlfriend on the other side of the room. Allison, I’m not sure I can do this, teach the intricacies of calculus to this Neanderthal. I find it a miracle that your boyfriend manages to both walk and talk at the same time.”

            “Aw, he can do that,” said Allison sliding her arms down his, hugging him from behind. “Not well, he tends to walk into things, but he’s getting there.”

            “Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side,” said Scott defensively.

            “Will you kids shut the hell up!” cried Peter. “I thought doing homework was supposed to be a quiet time activity. Some of us are trying to do some serious work over here.”

            He gestured at the table he and Angela sat behind. Derek had started to buy real furniture. The tiny table they’d previously piled high with books and laptops when research was called for had been replaced by a huge dining table. Angela and Peter were hard at work on the tail of the would-be werewolf killers.

            That wasn’t the only change in the house. There was carpet on the floor in the living room. Okay, a rug but it was a start. There were two big squishy couches that Boyd, Erica, Jackson and Stiles were lounging around on now whilst they avoided doing their History essays. The training sessions had somehow started to turn into group study sessions. Derek had wanted a pack and instead he had a house full of teenagers doing their homework.

            “Sorry,” said Stiles. “We’ll try to keep the noise d-”

            The sound of an electric drill rent through the air. Peter threw down the book he was reading and pointed at Stiles.

            “This is all your fault!”

            “My fault? How is this my fault?” asked Stiles.

            “We were fine with our broken down little shell of a house. You were the one who had to come in here and decide it needed rebuilding. Now he’s hammering day and night and whether it’s hammering a wall or he’s hammering you, it’s still stopping me from getting my beauty sleep.”

            Stiles stood up, feeling his face flush. Of course everyone knew about his and Derek’s highly active sex life, but he still didn’t like it when people mentioned some of the finer details of that highly active sex life.

            “You live in a memorial to the murder of your family, Peter,” said Stiles trying to change the topic away from Derek’s fondness of hammering. “Is it too much to ask for a freaking roof?”

            Stiles walked out of the room following the noise of the drill. Derek was in the basement doing… well what Derek was doing wasn’t important because what he was wearing was of far greater concern: the Classic Derek attire of obscenely tight jeans and a grubby wife beater but accessorised with a leather tool belt slung low across his hips. This was actually the beginning of a porno. Why did the house have to be full of people with really, really good hearing right now?

            Stiles didn’t say anything. Instead he walked up behind Derek, using his abilities to skip over every squeaky floor board and dodge every air current that might carry his scent until he was standing directly behind Derek. He waited for Derek to turn off the electric drill.

            “Come to do a little bit of hard drilling?” he asked.

            Derek jumped and spun on him, brandishing the tool like a weapon.

            “Why do always have to do that!” he said when he saw it was Stiles.

            “Payback. It’s not nice when someone keeps appearing in your personal space without warning all the time.”

            “Jesus Christ Stiles! I nearly drilled you death,” he said.

            “Promises, promises,” Stiles said before kissing him.

            “Did you want anything, other than to scare me half to death?”

            “Peter’s bitching,” said Stiles. “We’re being too noisy. You’re about to knock down half the house. I thought I should come shut you up.”

            Derek shook his head and holstered the drill in his belt. Why was that so sexy?

            “How’s it going anyway?” said Stiles looking at the chaos around Derek.

            Derek clicked it tongue in annoyance.

            “Not great. The more I look at it the more I’m thinking it would just be easier to tear the place down and start over.”

            “The why don’t you?” asked Stiles. “Rent an apartment while you do the place up, you have the money.”

            “It’s not that,” said Derek. He ran his hands down the wall. “Bad things happened here, I lost my whole family, I should hate this place but- You see that water stain in the corner. You can just about make it out. That’s from when my big brother Ray and Laura were playing Tag and he ran into the wall so hard that it burst one of the pipes, flooded the whole basement. Notice one of the light fittings doesn’t match? That’s because it kept blowing every light bulb within a week and Peter got so annoyed one day that he just ripped it out. Nearly electrocuted himself. The stairs in the hall? We used to go sledding down them in our sleeping bags. Everytime I use the sink in the kitchen I remember my Mom talking to yours and know that she’d be happy we’re together. What’s the point in rebuilding if I get rid of all that?”

            Stiles put his hands on Derek’s shoulder and rubbed them.

            “Good point,” he said. “It’s not a house. It’s your home and if you ever need someone to come and help hold the ladder you have a back of very bored werewolves upstairs.”

            “You guys still… working.”

            “Homework is a bitch.” Derek flinched. Stiles saw him do it. “Okay, what’s up? Whenever we come over to do work you always go find something else to do. Do you have a problem with us using your house as our own private library? Because we can go find somewhere else.”

            “No, no,” said Derek, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “It’s just I don’t have to do homework anymore. I haven’t had to do homework for six years.”

            He fixed Stiles with a meaningful look.

            “Ahh. The age gap issue.” Stiles took a step so that he was right up against Derek’s body. “No one cares, at least none of the people that matter. Except maybe my Dad. I think he might care, but we’ll worry about that one when I manage to convince him we’re actually together.”

            Derek took a step away from him and began to look at the bit of the door frame he’d just been working on, using his thumb to pick at the splintered wood.

            “I care. It’s… well it’s Kate. It makes me feel like I’m using you to get what I want.”

            “We’ve been over this Derek. We both want it. You can rest assured that I want it most of the time in as many different ways as I can get it.”

            Stiles slid his hands through Derek’s hair. That always helped calm him down.

            “I just don’t like to be reminded that you’re underage all the time.”

            “Only in this state. And a few others, but in most of them it’s sixteen so hey! Let’s go to Colorado for the weekend. Then it’ll all be perfectly legal and above board. You can do whatever you want to me.”

            Derek shook his head and kissed Stiles softly.

            “I love you, you great big idiot. I love you and all the stuff.”

            Stiles took his hands and began to lead him upstairs.

            “Come on,” said Stiles. “Just come hang out with us for a bit, it’ll be fun. I promise.”

            Derek took off his tool belt and left it with whatever construction project he’d been working on.

            “Um, do you think this could put that back on later?” Stiles asked. “I’d quite like that being the only thing on you later.”

            “One thing at a time Stilinski,” said Derek, pushing Stiles up the stairs first.

            They walked into the room to find the whole gang completely ignoring their text books in frantic argument. The topic of conversation:  who would win in a fight, a pig or a swan?

            “This is what you called me up for?” Derek said into Stiles’ ear. “Hang on, where’s Isaac? Doesn’t he usually come to these?”

            “He’s on a date with Dreamboat Danny,” said Erica. “Said he might be home later, but he really, really, really hopes he’s not.”

            “Can’t we just tell Danny already,” asked Stiles. “It would just make life so much easier. Then he could come hang out with us…”

            “Talk to your boyfriend,” said Erica twisting her fingers through her hair.

            Stiles turned to Derek who was scowling at the lot of them. Stiles gave his arm a quick squeeze and walked back over to the table where his aunt was working away amidst all the chaos that surrounded her. In front of her was a mound of medical and toxicology reports. Peter sighed and put aside his latest book, helping himself to packet of nuts before holding them directly in front of Angela so she couldn’t see the page in front of her.

            “Peter, get your nuts out of my face,” she said pushing his hand away.

            “How times change. You always used to like having my nuts in your face.”

            “Funny. You’re funny,” she said flatly. She absent mindedly scratched the back of her hand, then looked at it with concern. “Oh Jesus, Peter. Were there cashews in that?”

            “Yes, why?”

            “I’m allergic you jack ass. Man, I can feel the rash coming on already.”

            Peter grinned while he threw a nut into the air and caught it with his mouth. Honestly, these two were worse than school kids. Stiles half wished they would just go against his wishes, screw and be done with it. The other half wanted that to never happen, ever.

            “I thought I was coming to speak to the grown-ups in the corner. It appears I was mistaken,” said Stiles.

            “She started it,” said Peter.

            “I did not!” Angela declared. “He’s always like this. One time he got caught trying to sneak into the library at the White Lodge so he could play poker with his friends. Blamed the whole thing on me. It’s nice to see you’ve matured Peter.”

            “So have you found anything?” Stiles asked before Peter could propagate this playground flirting any further.

            “Nope,” said Peter.

            “Nadda,” said Angela. “It doesn’t help that I’m trying to read stuff I have absolutely no expertise in.”

            She held up the papers to Stiles. It was page after page of in depth analysis of the poison found in the victims’ blood stream, cross comparing the substances found in them and ending with a list of chemicals. It might as well have been in Archaic Latin.

            “Hey Lydia. You’re a chemistry genius. Take a look at this.”

            She left Scott to his calculus and took a look at the pad. A few minutes later she handed it back.

            “I’d have to do a little research but I’m guessing Aconitum aka Wolf’s Bane,” she said calmly. “The levels found in the blood stream suggest that it was either ingested or administered intravenously rather than inhaled or through skin contact. That any help?”

            Man, that girl was smart.

            “Ingested. That sounds the most likely,” said Angela.

            “But how,” asked Stiles. “Someone making Wolf’s Bane brownies and handing them out to strangers?”

            “In the drinks,” said Lydia. “A club only has drinks on offer and at a party it would be easy to spike a few bottles of champagne. That’s how I’d do it.”

            Angela hit the table in triumph.

            “The drinks! That’s why they get such a large number of people. Spike the wine and you’ll get half the room.”

            “At the club we were drinking beer,” said Stiles. “They open the bottles in front of you.”

            “Smart move,” said Angela. “Stick to bottles from now on.”

            “Okay, great, so we know how they get the poison out,” said Peter. “We even know what the poison is but that still doesn’t help up work out who’s behind all this.”

            “No,” said Angela, “but I do have an idea of where they might strike next, which reminds me.”

            She marched out the front door towards her car, returning after a minute with a long black suit bag, offering it out to Stiles.

            “One delivery for Mr Stilinski, courtesy of the Family Weiss.”

            “First the new coat, now this. I am liking the freebies.”

            “New coat?” said Angela perplexed. “Did you trash the old one again and not tell me?”

            “No,” said Stiles. “I got a big box in the mail the other day. I thought it was something to do with you. It was a new coat. A red one.” Stiles thought it best to leave the whole leather issue out for now. At least while everyone was listening.

            It was hard to tell sometimes, like now, whether Angela had gone stiff or whether that was just her face.

            “Not from you I take it,” he said

            “No.”

            “You know who sent it though?” asked Stiles.

            “We’ll talk about it later,” she said and unzipped the bag. “Here we go. One decent suit.”

            Stiles ran his hands down the fabric. It was a plain black suit jacket and pants with a scarlet red shirt but it felt expensive. The cut looked very precise and well made. He reached up to check the label on the collar and gagged.

            “Dude, this is Armani.”

            “I know,” said Angela. She looked a mixture of sad and disgusted. “It’ll have to do until we can get you to a decent tailor.”

            She zipped the bag back up and handed it over to Stiles.

            “Make sure you try it on when you get home, I had to guess your size. Be at my place on Saturday at 6 o’clock sharp. Duty will call.”

            Turning on her heel she walked back to the table and sat down in a chair heavily.

            “Are we seriously back to the oh-so-secret ‘I can’t tell you why you need to do all the things I’m telling you to do, just do them’ because I’m going to go out of my freaking mind. Is there some great mystical reason that you can’t tell me what’s going on?”

            “Nope, I could tell you everything,” she said in her usual flat tone. “I’m just not going to because my way is more fun.”

            His eyes flicked to where Peter was smirking. The two of them were definitely spending too much time together these days.

            “You always loved it make people squirm,” said Peter.

            “It’s not going to be anything dangerous is it,” said Derek. He stepped up close beside Stiles. “Every time he’s done something for the Council you guys bring him back home via the emergency room with another broken bone.”

            “I’ll be fine Derek,” said Stiles, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I can look after myself.”

            “Past experience would say that’s a crock,” said Derek. He looked down to the rib that Stiles’ had broken six months ago.

            “Don’t mind him Stiles,” said Erica from the couch. “He’s just being super protective.”

            “It’s adorable,” agreed Allison.

            “It’s like he has real human emotions,” said Jackson squinting at them.

            “I don’t know,” said Boyd. “He could still be faking.”

            Derek was clenching his jaw, trying to glare them all into submission.

            “It is really sweet,” said Scott. “Like he’s a mamma bear and you’re one of her cubs.”

            “Right, that’s it. All of you on your feet!” He marched over and started dragging the official members of his pack onto their feet. “Training session. Now. Running followed by me punching each and every one of you. Repeatedly.”

            Stiles knew that this all an alpha, authority thing but by God if seeing the load of them being told off by Derek wasn’t hilarious. Allison and Lydia were currently hiding behind their Math text books, trying to hide how hard they were laughing.

            “This is all your fault,” Scott shouted at Stiles while Derek threw him out the door.

            “No, this is your fault for being an insubordinate ass,” said Derek.

            “I’m not even in your pack officially!” whined Scott. “Jesus, was this because we implied you were Stiles’ mother.”

            “Start. Running,” said Derek. He was avoiding looking at Stiles, beginning to blush. It was quite a feat to make Derek blush.

            Stiles laughed. “I know you love me and stuff, but there’s no need to go through all this on my account,” Stiles called after Derek as they started to run off.

            Derek grunted his confirmation and waved his arm over his head before starting to chase his unruly pack out into the preserve. Stiles watched him go, chasing his pack into the woods. He’d never say it to his face but Derek was a mamma bear. He’d fight and die for those guys as much as they would for him or each other. They were a pack, Scott and Jackson too. He turned to see Lydia and Allison had crossed over to the table with Peter and Angela, helping look through the combined knowledge of the Hales, Argents and Weisses. Just over a year ago he knew none of them, not really, except for Scott. Now they were people he’d do anything to protect. Funny how life could do that to you sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I have said before I am British. I try to americanise at least the dialogue for the sake of authenticity and by and large I haven't minded changing the odd Mum to Mom and sofa to couch. But nothing, NOTHING has pained me greater than writing Math instead of Maths. It is an actual physical burning sensation somewhere in the region of my cerebellum.


	12. Lady in Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to pick up his aunt, dressed to impress.

            “I’m still getting ready,” Angela called from the bathroom when Stiles arrived, dressed and ready to go. “Make yourself at home, I’m going to be another ten minutes, by which I mean I’ll be fifteen.”

            “You’ve had all afternoon. It took me fifteen minutes to get ready and that was including the shower.”

            She stuck her head round the door, her hair was in curlers and her makeup still only half done.

            “Do you think all of this just happens? The hair alone takes me an hour.”

            “An hour! Is it really that important?” he asked.

            “Is it really that important! Do you even realise where we’re going.”

            “No,” he said. “Because you haven’t told me yet.”

            “Oh. Yeah,” she disappeared back behind the door. “Well it’s the kind of place where you need an Armani suit and I need to spend an hour on my hair. You should see the underwear I have to-”

            “Oh my God stop talking,” he said, not wanting to picture his aunt in her underwear in any way shape or form.

            “Prude,” she said.

            Stiles carefully perched on the arm of the sofa and flicked on the TV. He was paranoid about even sitting anywhere where he might hurt his suit. Last night he’d made the mistake of Googling how much it cost. He nearly feinted, especially considering what had happened to it the first time he tried it on, or more accurately the first time he’d taken it off. ‘Millionaire Playboy and the Handy Man’ was not a game Stiles ever expected to play, but it was definitely one he and Derek would be playing again.

            From the bathroom there was a mix of swears, blasphemy, show tunes and banging as Angela continued to get ready for whatever swanky party they were going to. There would be lots of people there, thought Stiles. The perfect place for the attacker to strike.

            Ten minutes later, which was actually fifteen, Stiles heard the bathroom door close and Angela walk out. He nearly fell off of his perch. Sometimes he could almost forget that Angela was his Mom’s twin. Their personalities were so different, they shared nothing but a face and even that they wore differently. Then something like this happened. Angela looked beautiful. Her hair was elegantly curled and pinned at the side of her head. She was dressed from head to toe in a long red dress that accentuated every curve perfectly. But the worst thing was her impeccable make-up. It remade her face, obliterating her worry lines or crow’s feet, the tiny things that made her Angela and not his Mom.

            “And now you see why I didn’t pick you up at yours. I thought it might give your Dad a heart attack turning up when I look this much like Janey.”

            “You look beautiful,” he choked out.

            “I know,” she said flatly. “You don’t scrub up too bad yourself, Little Red. It really is your colour.”

            Stiles looked down at himself. He did look quite snazzy. Derek had certainly thought so. When he’d tried it on at his boyfriend’s it had been a while before he had been allowed to leave and only when he promised that the suit would be coming back at some point. Not Stiles. The suit.

            “Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” asked Stiles?

            “The Northern Californian Wilderness Protection Society Annual Fundraiser and Ball,” she said, having to close her eyes to remember all of the obscenely long title. “I am going and you are my handsome young arm candy. Just a warning, the middle-aged women will be all over you. Those guys at Jungle are nothing compared to a fully grown cougar in her natural habitat.”

            “I think I heard about that thing on TV. Isn’t it kind of a big deal? I heard the tickets were stupidly expensive.”

            “Oh, exceedingly so but we can afford it.”

            “We?”

            “The Council. They’ll cover pretty much any expense that you incur in the line of duty. It’s pretty generous but if you start charging for private yachts and trips to the Bahamas they come down on you like a sack of bricks. Sometimes with an actual sack of bricks.”

            “Nice,” said Stiles. In his head he was trying to quickly come up with a reason why getting his Jeep fixed might be important Council duty.

            “But I didn’t call you here to discuss admin. You are my date and due to the ridiculous heels I have to wear to make my ass look this good I will be unable to work the gas.”

            “You mean I get to drive the Mercedes?” Stiles asked. Angela drove a great black car, the exact type of car that you’d expect an FBI agent to drive. He’d always wanted to get behind the wheel and check for spy gadgets hidden in the dash board.

            She grinned at him. Stiles knew that grin. Whatever was about to happen was either going to be very good, or very, very bad.

            “Oh no. We’re taking my _other_ car.”

            Stiles followed her downstairs to the second garage she’d rented. Stiles opened the door. The room didn’t look like any garage it had seen before. It had been gutted and replaced with something out of a sci-fi movie. The white walls and floors were spotless, the shelves lined with row after row of tools and car care equipment. In the centre was the most beautiful car Stiles had ever seen.

            “What is it?” he asked with awe.

            “That my dear is an Aston Martin Weiss. Specially honed to my exact wants, needs and requirements.”

            She sauntered up to the car and ran her fingers lovingly up and down the bonnet. Stiles doubted there were many people that she would allow to do that.

            “And those requirements are?”

            She fixed the car with a loving gaze.

            “I like to go fast. _Really_ fast!”

            “Aren’t you worried someone might steal it?”

            She raised her eye brow at him.

            “Please. I’m one of the senior members of a group that controls every facet of the supernatural world. If I didn’t want you in the room right now, you wouldn’t be. You would also be on fire. Witches may be tricky at times but they sure as hell have their uses.”

            She held out the keys for Stiles to take.

            “You are letting me drive this? Me. Stiles Stilinski.”

            “Of course. You’ve shown that you’re more than capable of handling Lance.”

            “Lance?”

            “What I name my car is no one’s business but my own. Besides I had a cheat sheet ahead and I see no flaming balls of wreckage in our future. You’ll be fine.”

            Did she see any dings or scratches in that future either? Stiles looked back at the car. He’d never been a gear head but the beast in front of him was doing strange things, accessing that part of his brain that compelled him to just jump in and slam on the gas.

            “We need to make an impression,” said Angela. “Think of turning up in this baby. You arrive in a custom built Aston, impression made. You ready?”

            She jangled the keys. Stiles grabbed them out of her hand.

            “Let’s drive!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Put up a new porny scene as well -> [Lover's in the Backseat](http://archiveofourown.org/works/753947). Go read it. It's funny.


	13. Vegas Baby!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles learns a bit more about his family.

            The car purred as Stiles pulled up into the sweeping driveway outside the country club. Every head turned to look at his aunt’s ridiculously over the top car as its engine’s roar fell to a gentle purr.

            Stiles was pretty sure he’d just had a spectacular orgasm. He’d not come but there had been a speed-gasm or a car-gasm, a most definite something-gasm half way between here and home when he threw all traffic laws to the wind and floored it for as long as he dared. He’d been pretty sure that he was going to die but when the pant wetting fear stopped he was left with one hell of an adrenaline rush. Angela was right. He liked to go fast. _Really_ fast.

            “Fun?” asked Angela.

            “I think I just found something better that sex,” he said.

            They pulled up at the entrance.

            “Yes well, please don’t try to actually have sex with my car. You laugh but that’s why I had to get rid of my lovely Ferrari, thank you very much Kieran. Now, are going to be a gentleman and open the door?”

            Quickly apologising, he got out the car and tried to look cool as he went round to Angela’s door. He didn’t manage it.

            “You still have a ridiculous grin on your face right now,” she said and took his arm. “I hate this is stupid over the top posturing but Lance is a luxury I can just about stand.”

            The valets at the door pushed each other out the way to take the keys from Stiles until someone more senior came over and told them all off. He tried to look austere as he got in the car but Stiles could see the look of glee that was written all over his face.

            Angela showed two tickets to the woman on the door but she was distracted, staring after the car along with everyone else who was outside to get some fresh air or have a smoke. They’d wanted to make an impression. Mission accomplished. The woman handed them a black box. Stiles opened his. Inside were casino chips.

            The room they stepped into was a grand sweeping ballroom, the kind with a huge staircase that came straight from a Disney film. It was filled with people winding around the roulette and poker tables, stopping off to play a few hands. There was a constant murmur of groans as people lost and shrieks of excitement as others won.

            Angela grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress, giving her a very suggestive wink before handing one to Stiles.

            “Just the one mind,” she said. “The stuff they serve here is delicious, you have to have at least one glass.”

            Stiles sniffed it with trepidation. “Don’t they care I’m not 21? I can’t gamble either.”

            “Please. When you have this much money under one roof no one cares about something as inconsequential as the law,” she said. Her bland voice dripped with sarcasm. “Besides. It’s not real gambling. You play for chips and then at the end of the night the person with the most wins a boat or a car or something.”

            “A boat?” said Stiles, incredulous. “We’re like 200 miles from the ocean.”

            “Only a little one,” she said. “If memory serves from the first time I was at something like this, it’s going to be freaky as hell. Call every one ‘my man’ or ‘my dear’ because no one wants to admit they don’t know someone’s name. They talk about all the troubles in the world, how awful it all is and then not do anything about it. If you don’t understand what they said, just ‘hmm’ in agreement because they’re not listening anyway and when all else fails, smile because you are an adorable little puppy and everyone will love you. Andrew! Darling!”

            Angela clamped down on Stiles’ arm with her own and pulled him forward. They went around the room, gliding from person to person. There would be a brief introduction, some small talk that sounded fairly hefty, the situation is Syria or the state of the stock market, but he quickly realised was nothing more than headlines and third hand opinions. Important matters discussed, they would move on. What really shocked Stiles though, more than the fact that Angela was smiling the whole time, was that she knew _everyone_ and everyone knew her. From the smattering of local celebrities to the state politicians. Even the wait staff she knew a few by name. It was insane.

            Eventually he had to ask. “The car. The clothes. The swanky tickets. The knowing every god damn millionaire in the entire of northern California. Just how rich are you?”

            “We,” she said calmly. “It’s the Weiss family money.”

            Stiles bit his lip. He hated when she did this, got all twisty with her answers to straight forward questions.

            “Okay. How rich is the Weiss family?”

            She switched her empty champagne glass for a full one on a passing tray. When Stiles tried to do the same she took it off him and started drinking from that one as well as her own.

            “You’re driving, remember.”

            “You didn’t answer my question,” said Stiles. “How rich is his freaking family I’m in.”

            “Put it this way: when you can see the future the stock market is pretty much an ATM machine. What the Council needs it… acquires and over the years the Weiss family has managed to build up a sizable nest egg. We don’t actually get paid for all this you know.”

            “So you’re loaded?” said Stiles. For some reason he felt a little hurt. It wasn’t like Angela had lied to him. She’d simply omitted to tell him that she was fabulously wealthy.

            She looked at him and smiled. God she could look like his Mom some times.

            “I wanted to get to know you as your infuriating, slightly strange aunt.” She sounded more vulnerable than Stiles had ever seen her. “I wanted to just be another member of the family, your mentor into the ways of the Council, maybe even a confidant. I did not want to be the insanely rich relative to be taken advantage of. That’s not who I am. I’m not the kind of woman who drives her flashy car to a party like this so she can show off her diamonds. The money is just a tool, a thing that’s there to be used, it doesn’t define me as a person like most of the other people in this room.

            “And I told you, it’s not ‘you’, it’s ‘we’. You’re part of the family. When your Mom upped and left my Dad changed the terms of her trust fund so it would pass onto any of her future progeny if she never claimed it. Well, she never claimed it and it’s been gathering interest for the last 30 years. Congratulations honey. Whether you use it for good or evil, come your 21st birthday you are going to be a very rich man.”

            She waggled her eye brows at him and took a long drink from Glass 1 of champagne, putting to down on the Black Jack table they were walking past before staring on Glass 2. Trust funds. Stiles had a trust fund. He wasn’t entirely sure how a trust fund even worked. Here he’d been wondering whether he could get enough cash together to fix his Jeep, go to college, scrape by in this crazy, crazy world and he had a freaking _trust fund_. Angela was beside him, stroking his back in comfort. It was the only thing to stave off the panic attack brewing in the back of his chest.

            “Why hello there Mr Handsome!”

            Lydia sidled up towards him, kissing him on the cheek as she threaded her arm through his.

            “How much of that did you hear?” he asked.

            “Enough to know that you’re Mr Moneybags now!”

            “Not now. 21,” Angela reminded him. “Then you’ll be free to buy all the champagne that you want.”

            Stiles was pretty sure he was supposed to be screaming with joy. He’d just found out he was loaded, or would be, but all the knowledge did was make his chest go tight. Now Lydia knew, everyone would know. Was he ready for that? Would they treat him any differently? Would they constantly be asking for money? Why was he having all these worries now, that wasn’t Stiles. Stiles should be thinking about how he was going to blow the lot in as short a time as possible. Was it his foresight telling him that they would be a problem? Were his friends going to abandon him?

            Angela lay a hand on his shoulder.

            “Relax,” she said.

            A warm feeling seemed to resonate out from her hand and miraculously Stiles felt the tension ease out of him. He could still feel the worry holding him, but it had relaxed its jagged edge. She took off her hand and Stiles felt at peace.

            “Thanks,” he said. “I need to learn how to do that. Can we do that to ourselves?”

            “Unfortunately no. That would be too much like something useful.”

            “What the hell are you doing here?” said Jackson, barging in without ceremony.

            “Charming Mr Whittemore,” said Angela coolly. It was lost on Jackson. His eyes were focused entirely on Lydia and more specifically where her arm was on Stiles’.

            “I thought this was the sort of place where they’re meant to keep guys like you out.”

            “Stiles is rich now,” said Lydia obviously enjoying herself.

             “To be honest I’m more surprised that you’re here Jackson,” said Angela.

            “My Dad’s going for political office, remember.”

            “Oh yes. Silly me,” said Angela, completely disinterested.

            Following Jackson’s miraculous return, Mr Whittemore Esquire had suddenly realised that he had an enormous media presence. He’d decided to capitalise on it. At least he’d changed his tune on Stiles’ Dad. Before he’d accused the Sheriff of incompetence after losing his son’s body. Now he revered the Sheriff as the best upholder of the law in history for finding his son not only alive, but returning him to his father unscathed.

            Jackson glared at the point where Lydia was still hanging on Stiles’ arm. He looked like he wanted to murder Stiles. His jaw was doing the clenchy wobble thing it did when he was really pissed off.

            Stiles couldn’t help himself. He unhooked his arm from her elbow and put his arm around her shoulders. He kissed her on the cheek, watching Jackson out the corner of his eye. Yes, he was supposed to be building bridges with Jackson but how could he resist the opportunity to wind him up so deliciously? When Lydia started taunting along, it only made it sweeter.

            Jackson looked ready to flip out. He took a half step forward, but he closed his eyes tightly, scrunched up his fists. It was like something was pulling him back, his body at war with his will.

            “Lydia. My Dad’s doing his thing. You coming or what?”

            He turned around and stalked away. Lydia let out an exasperated sigh and patted Stiles on the arm.

            “Too far?” asked Stiles.

            “Please. It’s not like we were making out or anything. He knows that we were just a… a…”

            “Dalliance?” suggested Angela.

            “Yes! A dalliance,” said Lydia. “I went back to him. Again. Besides you’re with Derek and he’s seen how… together you two are.”

            “True. But I don’t think that we should ever try that game with Derek. Like ever.”

            “Agreed,” said Lydia. “I better go after Sir Huffs-a-lot before he really gets in a mood. I’ll come find you later.”

            She kissed him on the cheek and trotted after her boyfriend. Stiles watched as she slid her arm around Jackson’s waist and whispered something into his ear. He stopped, shook his head before hooking a finger to tilt up her chin and give her a quick kiss on the lips. They smiled at each other and walked out into the crowd. For the first time since he walked into the party, Stiles wished that it was Derek on his arm rather than his aunt.

            “Hmm,” his aunt, watching them go.

            “ _Hmm_ what?” asked Stiles.

            “Just _Hmm_. We’ll see if it turns into a _hmm_ something else. Right,” she declared, loudly clapping his hands. “Shall we get down to business?”

            “Sure. If you remember that you never actually told me what business was!”

            “Well I’m going to go investigate but what I need is a distraction. That’s where you come in my glamorous assistant.”

            “A distraction,” said Stiles. “Sure. I can do that. What you thinking? Start a fire? Start a fight? I could punch that guy in the face,” he said pointing at someone with a particularly punch worthy face.

            She looked at him without an expression.

            “Why do you always have to go straight to the violence? No wonder you’re dating Emowolf Tightpants. Mr ‘Oh look there’s a problem, let’s tear its arms off’.”

            One time! One time they’d had a mild run in with something called a wendigo. Derek had gone straight in attempting to tear its arms off, risking the whole pack in the process. Angela had managed to stop him just in time, pointing out that it was a simple matter of luring it out into sun light. The thing had been dead in 30 seconds. Ever since Angela had been convinced that Derek was too violent to be trusted with important missions. His ‘bite first, ask questions later’ attitude was a liability in the field. She was, of course, absolutely correct but Derek had moped about it for a week.

            “I thought he was Beefcake McSexywolf?” Stiles said.

            “I’ll grant you he has become less Emopants since you two started dating, but what is it with the wardrobe in 50 Shades of Grey. Would it hurt him to wear colours occasionally?”

            “It’s like an actual allergy. He comes out in this rash, hives, it’s not pretty.”

            Angela laughed and shoved him away.

            “Distraction,” said Stiles looking around for anything he could use. “Distraction, distraction, distraction…”

            “I’ll give you a hint,” said Angela. “We’re at a Vegas night.”

            “I never would have guessed that from the people in fancy ass clothes gambling. Well, okay I didn’t when I tried to Look ahead to where we were going tonight, but I couldn’t See that well. Fancy ass clothes were about all I could make out. That and a red carpet staircase, for some reason.”

            “And you could see that because…” she said, as if talking to an idiot.

            “I can see the future.”

            “Put those two together and you get…”

            Stiles took a moment to connect the dots.

            “You want me to cheat?”

            “No Stiles. I want you to break the fucking house.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you're getting confused about updates. I've had to rewrite this chapter about 4 times and I still wasn't happy wiht it so I put it up last night. Then at about 4am I had a brainwave about how to make it heaps better, but was too tired to actually do it. I took it down and then reworked it this morning. Sorry if that's screwed anyone up.


	14. The Twirl and A Swoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wins big at the Vegas Night while his aunt Angela... well his aunt Angela is his aunt Angela.

            “23. House is bust. You win again,” said the croupier.

            The crowd around Stiles was cheering as his winnings were pushed towards him.

            “I don’t know where I’m going to put all these chips,” Stiles said with a boyish grin. There was a laugh as everyone watched him stack up his winnings into comically large piles.

            Some of the officials running the night were watching him closely, trying to work out how he was doing it. He made sure to keep his hands on the table at all times. To them it appeared he was just playing black jack really, really well. He had a system, he assured his onlookers, spieling out some long, obviously fake, reason to do with the shade of the croupiers eyes, how many Tuesdays were in this month and the number of beautiful women at the table. The latter, he realised, was becoming an increasingly high number. As soon as Lydia’d seen a crowd forming round him, she elbowed her way to the front and was standing behind him, claiming him as her own. Several of the older women kept touching his arm for a bit too long and making subtle comments about what a ‘delightfully funny young man’ he was. He was beginning to see what Angela had warned him about.

            “New hand,” said the croupier.

            Stiles pushed out a huge pile of chips not even bothering to see how much it was for. She made a point of dealing to Stiles last, making sure that the other players weren’t looking to him for clues on how to bet. Not that it mattered. He made sure to mix up how much he was betting, going in big on hands he knew were going to fail but still managing to generate an upwards trend in his winnings. He wasn’t a complete idiot after all.          

            The dealer finished with the other players. It was Stiles turn. She turned over the cards.

            “Seventeen,” she said.

            “Just like you,” said Lydia generating a swell of interest from the cougars at the table. Seriously. Did he emit a pheromone or something? _I am jailbait, come play with me._

Without looking, Stiles grabbed another pile of chips and placed them on the cards. This generated a round of _oohs_ as he waved his hand to tell the woman to carry on. He carried on staring at the dealer as she fished out the next card and grinned at him.

            “Six. That makes 23. Bust.”

            Stiles threw his hand to his forehead and wailed in mock despair. He’d lost! How could he have lost so much and… but wait? What was this? He still had a massive pile of chips left? What better way to get over a loss than to bet hugely on the next round where he knew he was going to get dealt a winning hand.

            Stiles glanced around as he waited for his turn to come around and noticed Angela standing by the drinks table, trying to look nonchalant. For someone who was paid to perform covert operations she was being remarkably uncovert. She backed towards the table, acting a little shocked when it hit into the back of her legs. Stepping sideways, she did a twirl around the end of the table so she was standing on the other side, running her hand along the surface as she tried to look like she was just hanging out back here, no big deal. Just where she likes to hang.

            Stiles turned his attention back to the game in front of him, unwilling to draw any attention to Angela’s attempts at stealth. Seriously, who was ever going to believe she wasn’t up to anything. A twirl! Who did a twirl when trying to be sneaky? He needed to up his distraction tactics if they wanted to get away with this.

            Stiles finished the hand, increasing his winnings by a ridiculous amount. He was going to win the next hand as well, he saw.

            “You know what,” he said. “I am feeling mighty, mighty lucky. Screw it, all in!”

            Angela had told him to break the fucking house, after all.

            The crowd started whooping in delight. Someone pointed out that ‘all in’ was a poker term but Stiles was too busy pushing all his chips into his little betting square. The other players at the table leaned back out of the way.

            Silence descended. His hand was dealt. Black Jack.

            He knew it was coming but that didn’t stop him from screaming. The others round the table screamed as well. Beside him Lydia threw her arms around him and kissed him hard on the mouth because there are times in life when you just have to kiss someone. He twirled her around and dropped her back down.

            As they waited for the croupier to count up his bet and go track down enough chips to claim his winnings, those gathered were all trying to shake Stiles’ hand and pat him on the back. A host of names were thrown at him and through it all he kept his hand firmly clamped round Lydia’s glad of the friend in the midst of all this chaos.

            Then Jackson was there, in his face, breathing down on him.

            “Let go of her,” he said. He was accessing the wolf part of himself, Stiles could hear it in his voice.

            Stiles relaxed his grip but still held on, leaving the choice to Lydia. He looked at her. She was beginning to slip into the expression she’d had when she’d shown up at his door when Jackson ‘died’. Scared, all her Lydia-ness stripped away.

            Around him the gathered guests were watching the situation with interest. Stiles needed to get Lydia away from Jackson but he couldn’t leave the table until the croupier came back. The heavy set bouncers were beginning to look at the three of them.

            Luckily it was that moment that Angela decided to lean on the drinks table and ‘accidentally’ tip the whole thing over. Smashing glass pinged across the floor, the elegant crash accompanied by her screaming. She stooped to help clear up, only getting in the way. Stiles leaned into Lydia, cupping the side of her face.

            “You okay?” he asked.

            She nodded, closing her eyes against the tears. She’d spent hours on this make-up. She wasn’t about to wreck it here in front of everyone. Stiles turned to Jackson and pushed him backwards.

            “You need to back off. Now,” said Stiles.

            Jackson adjusted his stance ready to rip into Stiles. He was leaning his weight back to do it when he shook his head suddenly and rubbed his temples with his fists. Without a word he started to walk away. Lydia slipped out from beside Stiles, taking Jackson’s hands. He was shaking slightly. Whatever it was that had come over Jackson, he was fighting against it.

            Well there was a healthy relationship, Stiles thought: he nearly starts a fight and she tries to comfort him. Jackson needed a closer eye kept on him, Stiles resolved. The boy already had two strikes. Everyone knew what happened on the third.

            “I’m so terribly sorry,” Angela said. “I’ll just go stand out of the way now.”

            She was holding her hand up to her face, slightly missing it every time she tried. She was wasted. Again! All those champagne glasses she’d been knocking back, he’d lost count of the number. Wasn’t she supposed to be the professional one?

            “Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. I knocked the table over.”

            She bit down on her knuckled, her face screwing up at what she’d done.

            “Okay, I think you need a quiet sit down and a glass of water, don’t you?” he said.

            “Are you okay Angela,” asked Lydia walking over.

            “Me! I’m fiiiiiiine. How are you, you look so lovely this evening. And your young man too. Much better than the first time we met at any rate.”

            She flopped forward onto Jackson, using him to support herself.

            “Jesus,” said Jackson as he pushed Angela back towards Stiles. “She’s worse than those guys the other day, and they were tripping their balls off.”

            “Exsqueeze me?” asked Angela.

            “I had to go to some big business lunch for my Dad. All the people there were completely hammered. Half of them were shouting at people who weren’t even there.”

            “This wouldn’t have been the Mears and Co Logistics and Operations 75th Anniversary lunch would it?” asked Stiles.

            “Yeah. How did you know that?”

            Stiles felt Angela’s nails dig into his arm.

            “Nothing. Just something that my Dad said. Anyway, I better get rummy here somewhere she can lie down for a little while.”

            Angela was staggering left and right as they rounded the corner into a side corridor. She lurched sideways into the coat room, claiming that she needed something urgently, collapsing into a heap in the middle of the floor.

            “How much champagne did you have?”

            She jumped up off the floor the second that the door clicked shut.

            “Not that much,” she said. She was back to Angela again. All business.

            “You were faking?”

            “Of course. The plausibly fake drunk is one of the staples in intelligence gathering. No one suspects the woman who’s off her tits. Good job on the distraction front by the way.”

            “Any joy?”

            She scowled and held up a small vial. Empty but for a few grains of purple power at the bottom.

            “Found this in the trash but I’m afraid I might be too late. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the champagne they’d go for, that’s why I’ve been drinking it all night. That many bottles and glasses, too tricky. That and I didn’t foresee any gut wrenching sickness in either of our immediate futures. The punch though, that’s easy to spike if I remember from my high-school days.”

            “That’s why you tipped the table over,” he said. “To tip the punch over.”

            “All over my one off, Paris original!” she said. The dress was ruined. The silk had been snagged by the broken glass and was slashed to pieces down one side.

            “Ouch. You okay?”

            “Yeah,” she said. “Time I was getting home anyway. I want to get this analysed asap so we can see what it is we’re dealing with. Smells like wolf’s bane but there must be some other shit in there as well. It’s not looking good for Mr Whittemore is it? That’s three for three and he was at Lydia’s too.”

            If Jackson was poisoning people was that why he was behaving so oddly? It always looked like there was some other force at work over him, urging him on and then holding him back.

            “What we going to do about it?”

            “Confirm it. We can’t just go around accusing every werewolf in town. We need proof or at least a motive.”

            “He’s a psychopathic jackass who secretly hates us all?”

            “From what you’ve told me, could very well be. Anyway, I have punch squishing around in my four hundred dollar shoes so I am going to go home.”

            “Fine. I’ll cash up or whatever you do here and go get the car…”

            “Oh, no no no no. You misunderstand. _I_ am going home. _You_ need to stay and look after our other operative.”

            “Our other operative?” he asked but she was already affecting her customary stagger out of the coat room.

            “Don’t worry honey, you stay and have fun!” she shrieked, turning the heads of passers-by. “Henrietta said she’d drive me home, don’t you give it a second thought.”

            “But how am I supposed to get home Angie?” he asked, playing along with the game. And who the hell was Henrietta?

            Angela grabbed his hand and grinned in that over the top way that drunk people do. Dragging him down the corridor, the pair of them ended up in a different part of the venue. It was a slightly smaller version of the room they were using for the Vegas night and totally empty apart from one person standing on the stairs leading up to the upper floors.

            Stiles knew it was Derek before he turned around. He could tell Derek from a crowd of thousands when he was half a mile away.

            He was in a suit much like Stiles but with a black shirt that had been left artistically unbuttoned and no tie in sight. It was simple, very Derek and did strange things to Stiles’ legs that made them unable to function properly anymore. Derek walked down the stairs, looking down at himself as if to say ‘good enough?’ It was. It was very, very good enough.

            “Thank you very much Mr Hale,” said Angela. “You’re help, as ever, has been invaluable.”

            “Help?” asked Stiles weakly.

            Angela looked at him with surprise.

            “Sorry, I didn’t think you were capable of listening mid-swoon. Yes. Derek helped me find the vial. Sniffed it out.”

            “You sniffed out wolf’s bane, are you crazy!” Stiles walked across to Derek, grabbing his face and holding his hand to his forehead, checking for a raised temperature.

            “I’m fine,” he grumbled. “I need a big dose to be in any danger. This was just following traces.” Derek grabbed Stiles hands as he tried to pry apart his eyes and check his pupils. “Stiles. I’m okay. Now you know how it feels to watch you go running off into the woods without a plan when there are faeries, crazed gunmen and werewolf killers around every corner.”

            “Yeah,” said Stiles defensively, “but I can come up with plans as I go along. You tear its arms off.”

            “Tearing its arms off is a plan!” said Derek.

            Stiles shook his head and kissed him. Derek put his arms around him and lifted him into the air, spinning him round before depositing him back on the ground. They were in a ballroom after all.

            “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” Stiles asked.

            “Swooning, Stiles,” said Angela. “When you walked in here and saw him you were swooning. It is hard to do anything productive when one party in inclined to swoonage at any given point. Besides if you knew Derek was here trying to bury his nose in a vat of wolf’s bane would you have been able to whip that crowd up into such a distraction as you did? No. You would have failed miserably. Hence the clandestinely.”

            Stiles bit his tongue, then kissed Derek and bit his.

            “Have fun boys. I understand that Stiles is doing rather well in all respects in the other room. Keep your eyes, ears and noses peeled. I have to get driven home by a particularly kind and lovely lady who knows her gasket from her catalytic converter. Goodbye.”

            Despite her assertions that she wasn’t really drunk, she stumbled on the step on her way out. Derek stooped to help her up, bending over to show how his pants were barely able to contain the magnificence of his backside.

            This time Stiles went for the full swoon.


	15. Stakeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek are on their first ever stakeout. It's very boring, so Stiles comes up with a novel way to pass the time...

            “He’s not that bad,” said Lydia.

            “He wanted to punch me in the face,” said Stiles.

            “But he didn’t punch you. That’s the important thing.”

            Lydia tried to laugh it off but there was sadness in her smile.

            “Spill it,” said Stiles.

            “Spill what,” said Lydia.

            “Something’s upsetting you, something to do with Jackson. I saw how scared you were the other day at the Vegas night. That’s not the first time since he’s been back he’s frightened you, is it?” She took another of Stiles’ French fries and chewed it ponderously before shaking her head. “Come on Lydia. You can talk to me. Or do I have to go to Allison?”

            “No. I haven’t talked to her about it either. It’s not that he’s done anything, it’s what he’s not doing. It’s like there is something holding him back all the time. He wants to do something but instead he does something else. He’s not the Jackson I’ve always known. He’s someone else. Sometimes that’s a good thing. He’s much nicer than he ever used to be. Then other times…”

            “Go on,” coaxed Stiles.

            Lydia took another bite of her lunch before carrying on.

            “He keeps being busy all the time. I didn’t realise it at first because I have to spend so much time studying to catch up but then when Isaac and Danny split I really started to notice it. He phone keeps going off, I haven’t seen him on a Tuesday or Thursday night for like three months and he won’t tell me why. When I ask, he just brushes me off with some excuse.”

            “You think he’s cheating on you?” asked Stiles.

            “What? No!” said Lydia as if the concept was incomprehensible. “No, he’d be less obvious if he was cheating. No this is something else. Something he doesn’t want to tell me about. This is what happened last time. He started disappearing off without telling me and then a few weeks later…”

            Stiles covered her hands with his.

            “Hey. It’s okay. You’ve got us here this time. Anything goes wrong, he so much as looks at you the wrong way, you let me know and we’ll deal with the problem real quiet like.”

            Lydia laughed, pulling her hands back and pushing him away.

            “Alright, Don Stilinski. But he’s never even looked at me funny. I mean, sure he threatened to punch _you_ in the face but he’s never even looked at me weirdly since he’s been back. He’s been a perfect gentleman to me.”

            “Man. That is weird.”

            “Stiles,” Lydia chided.

            “Sorry, sorry. I just worry about you. I know you could probably just explode Jackson with the awesome power of your brain, I just want you know I’ve got your back if you need it.”

            “I know Stiles. I know.”

 

*****

 

            Jackson’s Porsche _finally_ pulled into a car park. Derek had been tailing him for nearly an hour, driving miles until they were in three towns over from Beacon Hills. It didn’t look like a particularly nice area of town either, kind of run down. The sort of place Jackson would never be caught dead in. Not unless he was up to something he didn’t want anyone to see.

            “There’s a space over there,” Stiles said. Derek had driven past the parking lot to avoid suspicion. His car might be slightly less obvious than Stiles’ bright blue Jeep but Jackson would still notice it if they passed him in a half empty parking lot.

            Derek pulled up at the side of the road and peered into the lot, wolf eyes shining trying to see their target.

            “He’s coming this way,” he said.

            The boy stepped into the streetlight and walked about half a block before disappearing into a building.

            “Should we follow him?” asked Derek.

            “Hang on a sec,” said Stiles.

            He let his mind relax, trying to look though all the potential futures that lay ahead and saw himself walking up to the building and looking into a dozen different rooms. The image cut out and juddered, like a bad webcam connection. It came back and then split, overlaying the paths so he couldn’t tell which one belonged where.

            Falling to the side he hit his head against the window of the car bringing him back into the present. He massaged his temples, trying to make the headache go away. He must have been trying too hard. This used to happen all the time when he was still learning. Spreading out his mind, again, he tried to see the whole situation, but it wouldn’t work. The visions kept stuttering and freezing and just left him feeling sick so he stopped.

            “What is it?” asked Derek.

            “My ESP is on the fritz,” said Stiles.

            “It is? We should go,” said Derek reaching for the ignition.

            “Derek what are you doing?” said Stiles.

            “Something is playing with your visions. What if Jackson’s caught up in some serious hoodoo that can wipe you out? What else is he going to have against you if you go in there?”

            “Hoodoo? Jackson probably thinks a witch doctor is a guy in a white coat and a pointy hat. It’s just a cold. Remember when I was sick a few months ago? I kept having flashes every time I sneezed. I’m probably coming down with something again. Dude, you need to stop being so protective. I’m a badass alpha, remember, and not just because I’ve got this magic mojo working for me now. I can take care of myself. He’s not after me anyway, this stuff can’t hurt me.”

            “I’m your boyfriend, I’m allowed to be worried about this. Just let me go in there,” Derek pleaded. “It looks like a big place. I can sniff him out. It’ll be quicker. You stay here and watch the door in case he leaves.”

            Stiles relented. There were some fights you just aren’t going to win. Derek left, locking the car as he went.

            After ten minutes of playing on his phone, Stiles was brought back by a knock on his window as Derek got back in the car.

            “Nothing?”

            “I could smell him but there’s a community gym in the same building. It confused the smell too much. I had a hunt but that place is a maze. I got a list of all the things going on tonight.”

            The sheet was a page long. Front and back. Dance lessons, cooking classes, drama rehersals, support groups, each place as unlikely as the last to be somewhere that Jackson would be hanging out on a Thursday night.

            “I always wondered how long it would be before we ended up having a stakeout,” Stiles said with a smile. He settled down more comfortably, turning his attention to the door, waiting to see when Jackson would come out.

 

*****

 

            “I’m so bored,” said Derek after twenty minutes. They’d talked for a while but there was something about being in this kind of situation, when you had nothing to do except talk, that sapped all forms of conversation from out of you. It wasn’t that he and Derek didn’t talk. After the whole Lydia-dumping Derek fiasco the two of them had learned to actually use their words. They were just as happy discussing their innermost demons and feelings as they were the latest Batman movies, which Stiles had to force Derek to marathon with him only to then have the man effuse about their brilliance afterwards. They were in a real, proper relationship. It was just the car. It was a conversation sucking machine.

            Stiles eyes lifted slowly then scanned across to Derek.

            “If only we had some better way to pass the time?”

            Derek recognised the tone of Stiles’ voice or scented the sudden peak or arousal because he turned to Stiles with a dangerous look.

            “Stiles. No-oh my God,” he moaned as Stiles pressed his hand against his crotch. All he needed to do was bat Stiles’ hand away but then Derek was never good at being the one to stop inappropriately timed sex. Stiles wasn’t very good at that either, for that matter. Derek head rolled back as Stiles squeezed him through the cloth of his trousers.

            “Ah-a-ah!” said Stiles. “If you can’t concentrate and keep your eyes on the target then we are going to have serious issues when I take it up to level 2.”   

            “I’m not going to like level 2 am I?” Derek panted. He was already straining into his trousers.

            “Oh contraire! I think you will like level 2 a whole lot.”

            Stiles shifted in his seat before his hands went to work undoing Derek’s trousers. All pretence of trying to stop Stiles had already gone out the window as Derek shifted upwards in his seat as Stiles tried to undo his ridiculously tight trousers.

            “Well howdy there little guy,” said Stiles as he popped Derek’s cock out of his boxers. “Shall we play?”

            “Please stop having conversations with my dick like it’s a child. You know it weirds me out.”

            “Why do you think I do it?” Stiles asked, still smirking as he began to lick Derek up and down.

            “Oh yeah,” said Derek.

            Stiles pulled back.

            “Eyes open, soldier,” he said.

            “Yes sir,” said Derek obediently.

            “I can hear when you’re not watching. Just so you know.”

            Stiles lowered himself down again, taking as much of Derek into his throat as he could from this angle. Derek grunted rather than moaned, like he did when they couldn’t just lose themselves in unbridled passion in case someone else heard. Stiles heard the thump of Derek’s hands on the steering wheel as he gripped on to it. Derek used it to pull himself up into Stiles’ mouth, giving him a better angle to work with.

            “Oh fuck,” said Derek.

            “EYES!”

            “If you want me to watch the door then stop giving me a fucking blowjob.”

            Stiles didn’t. There was the sound of tearing leather and out the corner of his eye Stiles could just make out where Derek’s claws had sliced into the steering wheel.

            Stiles could tell when Derek wasn’t far off. The blood pulsed through his veins differently and he could feel the difference against his lips. A few more minutes and then-

            Someone knocked on the window.

            Stiles flew back into his seat and Derek jerked his legs upwards, trying to cover himself as he looked sideways into the light of a police officer’s flashlight. He managed to shove his dick back in his pants and make himself decent before winding the window down.

            “Does there appear to be a problem ma’am?” he asked. He sounded completely calm, meaning he was panicking like mad under the surface.

            The police woman looked between the two of them, shining the light in Stiles’ terrified face. Looking like she was weighing something up in her mind, she shook her head.

            “Licence and registration, please.”

            Derek reached across Stiles to get to the glove box. Stiles pulled away from him, knowing that touching Derek might make him combust from embarrassment. At least they were far enough away from home that the officer didn’t recognise him as the Sheriff’s delinquent son.

            The woman checked over the documents and returned them to Derek. Luckily she didn’t seem to find the need to run Derek’s ID. She shined the light into Stiles’ face again, dazzling him.

            “What about you kid? How old are you?”

            “S-Eighteen,” said Stiles. The words _UNDER FREAKING AGED_ flashed in front of his eyes.

            “ Seighteen?” said the police officer, totally unconvinced.

            “Speech impediment,” said Stiles. As usual he was talking before he gave his brain time to realise how much shit he was in. “Had it for syears. Skeep adding s’s on to words. Sreally rare.”

            The police officer snorted, shaking her head and dropping her eyes.

            “They do not pay me enough for this. You got ID?”  

            “Must have left it in my other spants.”

            “Of course you did. Why don’t you two… kids move it along.” She gave a pointed look at Derek. “Take it to a motel, hey guys?”

            Derek and Stiles both nodded as she banged on the edge of the window frame and walked back to her cruiser. Stiles collapsed in on himself in embarrassment. Derek looked like he just wanted to melt right through the floor of the car.

            “Ok. Ok. Ok,” said Stiles. “Seriously this time, seriously. No more sex in cars. Sex in cars, never a good thing.”

            “That’s what one of us always says and yet here we are!”

            “You love car sex,” said Stiles defensively. “Is it a smell thing? Marking up all of your territory with Eau du Stiles.”

            Derek rubbed his face with hands to revive himself. He scooched down a little so he could do up his pants and then started to get ready to drive of. Hand on the keys he stopped, turning his head to listen to something. He grinned as he started the car.

            “What?” asked Stiles warily. He’d learned to be wary of that smile. “What did you just hear?”

            “Oh just the officer talking to her partner. She’s waiting to see if you get out of the car.”

            “Why would I get out of the car in a neighbourhood like this?”

            “Because it’s a neighbourhood like this.” Stiles remained clueless. “She thinks you’re a hooker.”

            Stiles gaped, his mouth stretching for the words that he just couldn’t reach.

            “Well if I’m a hooker, then you must look like the kind of perv’ who’d use one,” Stiles said for lack of a better come back.

            “I know,” said Derek as he pulled out into the road. “Why would someone who looks like me be paying for sex with a scrawny little thing like you.”

            Stiles leaned back against the window frame.

            “You saying you think I couldn’t make it as a hooker?”

            “Stiles. Stop it now.”

            “I could be a hooker,” Stiles insisted.

            “It was a joke, Stiles. A joke,” said Derek laughing. “This is why I’m not supposed to make jokes, I remember now.”

            “I can’t believe you don’t think I could be a hooker? I could totally be a hooker. I bet I could make a ton of money being a hooker.”

            “You are not becoming a hooker just because I told you you couldn’t.” Stiles hated that Derek knew how his brain worked so well. “I’m sure you are perfectly capable of being a hooker but you are not allowed to be a hooker. Okay? I’m forbidding you.”

            “Forbidding me?” said Stiles.

            “Yes. On this, I think I can forbid you. I think the rules of relationships stretch to forbidding your significant other from becoming a sex worker.”

            Stiles grinned as he leaned back. It hadn’t really been a fight or even an argument, but for some reason he felt like he’d won.

            “Don’t like other people touching your things?” asked Stiles.

            “Not at all. I don’t like them touching my rent boys either.”

            Derek’s voice had gone a bit husky again. Well if Stiles was going to be a hooker he had no problem with Derek being his first client.

            “You better be planning on paying me for this little fantasy to work for me,” he said.

            “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement,” said Derek.

            They drove off as quickly as they could, all thoughts of Jackson forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all the smut I've written, and I've written a lot of smut in my time, I think this scene might be my favourite.


	16. Broken Handcuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets a text from Derek telling him to meet him at a nearby warehouse. Bring the handcuffs.

            The parking lot outside the disused warehouse was empty when Stiles drove up to it. He couldn’t see Derek’s car anywhere but that was probably all part of the game. He checked his phone again, just to make sure that it hadn’t all been a hallucination or his own vibrant imagination but sure enough, there it was in black and white. A text containing the address, the time and the phrase “ _Bring the handcuffs_.”

            Why, exactly, their sex life was getting so deliciously twisted Stiles wasn’t exactly sure. It wasn’t a conscious decision, like one day they sat down and said ‘we need to have more kinky sex’ or ‘you know what accessory this room needs: under-bed restraints’. It just, sort of happened that way.

            Maybe it was just his subconscious desire to distract himself from the Jackson issue. The more they tried to follow Jackson and work out what he was up to, the more the boy eluded them. The deeper they dug, the more guilty he looked. There was nothing solid to pin him to the poisonings yet but it was still causing them pause for thought. The worst thing was that Lydia was beginning to think there was something wrong too. What if they had to put an end to Jackson permanently? It wouldn’t just be the boy himself they would have to hurt.

            Regardless, whatever reason his and Derek’s sex life had taken this particular development, it was a development Stiles was particularly happy about. There was nothing like a really, truly good sex session to take your mind off of something.

            Of course, Stiles didn’t care if their sex was fresh vanilla or so spicy it left burns on his tongue. As long as it was with Derek it would be the best sex in the universe. It wasn’t even _that_ kinky in the grand scheme of things. Well, not yet anyway. Besides, they were both still getting used to this, trying to find out what they liked and what were the big no-nos.

            That was one of the rules; whatever they did, they did with honour. If one of them wasn’t comfortable, they had to say so and the other would respect them. It was why Stiles didn’t mind when Derek wasn’t overly affectionate in public and why the handcuffs stayed firmly on Derek’s wrists. Stiles tended to have a panic attack the second he was confined, whereas Derek got off on it big time. Or he had until he’d broken all the handcuffs. All three pairs of them.

            It wasn’t like it was even about the sex. Stiles had watched a lot of porn in his time. A lot. All kinds, all positions. He’d never really liked to watch the bondagey stuff though, he just didn’t get it. All the stuff on-line was about humiliating one of the people involved and what was sexy about that? When he and Derek got out the neck ties, belts and, in a pinch, shoelaces there was nothing about humiliation. It was so much more. It was Derek surrendering his power to him, showing his complete trust and love. When Stiles’ pretended to be a hooker, Derek was the one with the control but in a way that had nothing to do with strength or being the alpha, and it was Stiles job to give him everything that he needed and wanted.

            People always seemed to think that more exotic sex was a sign of an unstable person somehow, that if you had to resort to kink then there was something wrong in your relationship you’re trying to plaster over with sex, but they were wrong. If anything it was a sign that they were stronger than ever, that they felt comfortable enough to just let go and let the other see their darkest desires.

            It was also, of course, a freaking massive turn on.

            Stiles entered the building. It was in better repair than you might have thought. It had only been out of use for a few years so it was still structurally sound.

            He strafed down the corridor, looking over his shoulder constantly for the gangsters that lived only in his mind. After all Agent Stilinski was ever alert, especially when he was on the hunt of a criminal as dangerous as Don Derek Hale, aka The Beefcake. Or maybe McSexywolf. No. The Beefcake was a better gangster name he decided.

            After about five minutes Stiles gave up on the fake FBI agent bit. Derek probably had his own idea of what today was going to be about. The whole ‘public place, added sense of danger’ thing was ticking enough of Stiles’ boxes right now.

            Another ten minutes past and Stiles had searched every room he could find. He stepped back out to the outside of the building to check, but yes it was the right address. One more search of the building yielded nothing out of the ordinary.

            Checking the time he saw that Derek was half an hour late at this point so he fished out his phone from his jacket pocket.

            “Hey,” said Derek on the other end. Stiles could always tell when he was smiling on the phone.

            “Where the hell are you?”

            “At home with Isaac and his boy toy pretending to be a personal trainer. I told you about it last week, how Danny kept asking questions. Where are you?”

            Stiles huffed at him.

            “Was this a joke? One of your seriously unfunny jokes?”

            “What are you talking about, idiot?” asked Derek using his most accurate pet name for Stiles.

            “Sending me down to some crappy down town, slasher movie set thinking that we’re-” He dropped his voice low so that anyone else in the pack wouldn’t overhear. “Thinking that we were going to have a nice game of Narcotics squad vs the Maffia boss.”

            “Stiles what are you talking about?”

            “The text. The one you sent me earlier.”

            “I haven’t sent you a text today.”

            “Uh, yeah you did. I can see it right here in my phone. From your number so either you sent it or someone is trying really hard to get me-”

            _Trying really hard to get me on my own._ Stiles grip loosened on the phone as he began to search the dark corners of the warehouse for some sign of a person in the dark. He reached out with his Sight but his Vision suddenly stuttered in front of his eyes, like a broken television.

            “Stiles. Where are you? Get out of there n-”

            Stiles just had to time to register the pipe hitting him in the back of the head before falling unconscious.

 

*****

 

            Stiles woke up with his head feeling like it was about to fall apart at the seams. His vision was cloudy, it kept being overlaid with future visions that just wouldn’t come through right. He tried to raise a hand to cradle his aching head only to find that his hands were duct taped to a chair.

            This discovery brought him to a bit more. He managed to lock himself down enough to try and look around the room. The chair he was sat on had been placed in the middle of the room. Dim though the lighting was he was fairly sure there was nothing in the room but him but he heard footsteps creeping behind him.

            “Well, well, well. Look who decided to wake up at last.”

            Stiles tried to turn his head to the voice, his brain following a few seconds later with nauseating pain. The voice sounded familiar, but not very, like a voice over from an advert or something.

            “Who the hell are you?”

            Fingers grabbed into his hair and pulled back. He couldn’t help himself but scream, certain that a piece of his skull must have been driven into his brain.

            “Do not speak unless you are spoken to!” said the man.

            A hot wad of spittle landed in Stiles’ eye before the man threw his head forward. Defiance bit on the end of Stiles tongue, another of his usual useless comebacks but the concussion was keeping the words at bay. Wit probably wasn’t the best course of action here anyway.

            The man stepped around, his face still hooded in shadow.

            “You have your father’s colouring you know. The eyes too. But those lips… they’re all your mother.”

            The man crouched down and Stiles’ could see his face. It was Mark. He should have known. Who else would do this but him. He raised his hand to Stiles’ chin, lovingly running his thumb down his bottom lip. Stiles thought that the man was going to kiss him and for one wild moment he wondered how he’d explain to Derek that he’d kissed another man without his boyfriend getting mad.

            ‘ _He had you tied to a chair, idiot!’_ came Derek’s reply in his head.

            The sound of his voice, even imagined, gave Stiles’ strength. He gnashed out with his teeth trying to bite at Mark’s hand. It made his whole head feel like a magic eight ball but he couldn’t seem to find the fortune it told as his Sight failed him. The man withdrew quickly before striking forward with a clenched fist. The punch landed and Stiles tasted blood.

            “Less of that Mr Bitey. Is that why you’re fucking your little pet werewolf? You like to bite.”

            Stiles was too out of it to say anything. How did this guy even know about him and Derek let alone that he was a werewolf? He’d been locked up until, what, a week ago? Had he been stalking him that closely without Derek catching wind?

            “You know, the two of you have a particularly twisted little sex life. Some of the fantasies were certainly eye opening.”

            “H- how-” Stiles started before being silenced by another punch.

            “What did I say?” Mark asked calmly. Stiles remained silent as he clenched his eyes tight. The anaesthesia of his head injury was wearing off and the body constricting fear was beginning to set in. ‘ _You don’t die here,_ ’ he told himself. ‘ _You’ve seen how you die, and it’s not here._ ’ Unfortunately just because he wasn’t going to die doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to be in so much pain he wished he was going to.

            “Here’s the thing about kids today. They live their entire lives from a teeny tiny screen. Do you have any idea how easy it is to hack into a phone? It’s not. It’s really, freaking difficult if you can’t get your hands on the handset. Luckily, I’m a genius who’s been working in the field since you had to carry cell batteries in a suitcase.”

            Phone line repair man. He’d worked for a phone company before he’d gone bat shit, that was where he’d met his mom. Get on Stiles’ phone and he’d have access to everything. Emails, Facebook, texts. He and Derek got quite lurid in their text conversations when school was particularly boring. Though he never explicitly stated it if you knew the signs it would be easy to tell that Derek was a werewolf. Jesus. Why did he have to have so many damn apps on his phone?

            A flicker of hope came to his mind. Peter had had the bright idea to make everyone in the pack get the Where’s My Phone App on their phones. Derek knew his password if he was ever in trouble and he’d been talking to Derek when he was knocked out! He’d be on his way already. He had to keep the look of victory out of his face but he’d never been good at that.

            Mark held up Stiles’ phone in front of his face. It was smashed to pieces.

            “Nice try. As I said. I know everything ‘WolfLover95’. And didn’t anyone tell you it’s really insecure to make your password your partner’s name?”

            Crap. Derek didn’t know where he was, he wasn’t coming. His powers were still on the fritz. He had nothing. He was just plain old, boring, defenceless Stiles Stilinski again. For the first time he noticed the knife in Mark’s hand.

            “Jane’s name is in all my passwords still. Not that it would matter. No one would think to use her name. She barely ever said three words to me in the whole time I knew her. She always smiled at me every morning though.”

            He sounded like it was a badge of honour. A mark that deep down, she must truly have loved him and only him. Jane Stilinski smiled at everyone, it was just her face. She smiled at people on the bus, hobos on street corners, kids in the playground. Stiles didn’t say that though. He just kept watching the knife as he tossed it backwards and forwards between his hands. It wasn’t a normal kitchen knife. It looked old, heavy and sharp.

            “I loved her for so long. I was just getting up the courage to talk to her when bam! Enter the Sheriff, stage right.”

            His voice was still calm and melodious, masking the hatred that blistered underneath.

            “They say I’m crazy you know. They’re probably right. I don’t think it really matters any more. Of course, it did mean that when _they_ first came to get me I thought it was all in my head. They were so beautiful. I know that’s not their true face but… so beautiful. They offered me everything I wanted. Everything my heard desired. Except that what I wanted was your mother’s heart.”

            “Faeries!” Stiles spat out. “God damn faeries?”

            “You think I’d be more off kilter at finding out werewolves and faeries exist wouldn’t you? Then again, I am psychotic.”

            “Don’t trust anything they say! They’re twisted.”

            “Didn’t your useless father ever tell you it’s rude to speak before you’re spoken to?”

            Mark slid the knife into his belt and picked up a length of rope that had been left on the floor.

            “Listen to me! They’ll offer you someone’s heart and then serve it to you on a silver platter, still beating!” Stiles yelled.

            Mark shoved the filthy rope into Stiles mouth, tying it up tightly so he couldn’t shout.

            “My love’s heart isn’t beating anymore,” he said matter-of-factly. “She’s dead. I understand that now. But her spirit, her essence, her heart lives on. In her son.”

            Stiles lifted his head slowly. Mark was slowly caressing the knife. It was close enough that Stiles could see the celtic designs down the blade. Its colour wasn’t the grey of steel either. It was a brilliant white metal. A faery blade. It was sharp, strong and large enough to run him straight through. He had no doubts that would be able to slice through a sternum.

            “I couldn’t have her but I can still have a piece.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger #1
> 
> Now children, when you're going off to me meet your significant other in a creepy warehouse for kinky sex games, always make sure that it is actually for kinky sex games and that your significant other is aware that it is for kinky sex games. When partaking in kinky sex games it is always important to insure that you and your significant other are on the same page at all times to avoid embarrassment, discomfort, panic attacks and being hit in the head with a lead pipe by a maniac.


	17. Knifepoint

            Automatically Stiles called upon his Visions, searching through every escape plan for the best but his Sight screamed inside his head and blinded him. He jerked back instinctively, so hard the chair rocked backwards. Mark advanced on him with the knife and Stiles tried to kick out but his legs were taped up just as tight as his arms. He twisted but it was no use. The psychopath grabbed Stiles’ hair and tilted his neck back, running the blade along the hollow above his collar bone. Stiles could feel his heart beat against the cold metal. Calm, calm. Try to remain calm. Except calm wasn’t something Stiles did well. What Stiles did well was running, screaming and panicking! Mark lifted the knife away so that he could unbutton Stiles’ shirt, giving unfettered access to his chest.

            Seeing his chance Stiles threw his body forward as hard as he could, nutting Mark, then hurling himself backwards so that the chair fell over dragging the man with him. He heard something crack and he could move his legs. One of the chair legs had broken! As Mark struggled to get up, Stiles managed to kick him in something soft and squidgy before rolling over. He still couldn’t stand but he could at least now propel himself along the floor away from the man. Throwing himself back down on the other leg he managed to get that free too as the ancient chair splintered. Now he could crawl. He was halfway to the door when he was hauled backwards.

            Mark kicked Stiles in the side and knocked him down. The knife was in his hand. He was standing over Stiles ready to strike.

            “If you’re going to be like that little one I’ll just cut it right out of you now.”

            Stiles wriggled away, kicking and thrashing, but it was only buying himself time. He wasn’t going to be able to get away, not on his own when no one knew where he was.

            He heard a roar in the distance. No. Not a roar. A howl.

            Mark and Stiles looked at each other. Stiles kicked for all he was worth, thrashing the chair against the floor to try and break an arm off to swing. His head connected with Mark’s a few times. Each time his brain felt like it was about to split open.

            He kept trying to scream but the noise was just a muffled yelp against the gag. They were making a lot of noise; Derek must be able to hear him, smell him. Shit! He’d gone all over the warehouse, his smell would be everywhere. Given enough time, Derek would find him but could Stiles give him enough time?

            He felt the knife kiss against his skin as he kicked out and suddenly there was blood everywhere. Stiles didn’t know if it was his or Mark’s but either way it would make his scent easier to find. Stiles fought as well as he could, as well as he knew how without his powers to guide him but Mark still got the upper hand. He knelt on Stiles chest making it impossible for him to breathe. The man couldn’t help toy with him, even in this situation, and pressed the knife tip against Stiles’ breastbone until a dimple of blood raised up under the blade.

            A colossal crunch sounded as something slammed into the door, shaking the whole wall. There was another roar of frustration and Stiles could see the hesitation in Mark’s eyes.

            Stiles took that moment. He twisted his hips, feeling the tip of the blade cut a gash across his chest but Mark went flying across the room. The door finally gave way along with half the wall leaving Derek in a heap of debris in the middle of the room. His eyes were red beacons of rage. Mark looked between wolf and the missing wall and ran.

            From the corridor was the sound of another wolf and a collision. Mark stumbled back into the room. A wolf stepped into the door way. Isaac. He was hemming him in with Derek as they circled around him.

            Scott dove round the corner of the room, running straight for Stiles. Stiles watched as Derek walked up to Mark and grabbed him by the throat, claws digging in enough to make him bleed. The man struggled but Derek pulled him close and growled into his face. Derek was going to kill him.

            Screaming, Stiles remembered the gag in his mouth. He kept screaming and pulling until Scott paid attention and ripped the gag off, just as Derek swung back to slaughter Stiles’ attacker.

            “Derek, stop!” he screamed.

            No other force on Earth would have been able to stop Derek at that point apart from the sound of Stiles’ voice. Derek stayed his hand turning his gaze back to Stiles on the floor, shaking his head. Dropping Mark, Derek ran over to Stiles, collapsing by his side. He was still wolfed out, his blood too high to change back, and nuzzled into Stiles.

            Isaac leapt forward and stood over Mark, roaring when the man tried to get up. Derek turned back growling.

            “No. Don’t. Stop!”

            “Why?”

            “Because this isn’t a fucking werewolf turf war!” Stiles shouted.

            He was crying. He didn’t mean to, didn’t want to, didn’t try to stop. Derek cradled him, slashing his wrists free and the pair of them clung on to each other. Stiles could feel him growling low in his chest.

            “I’m fine,” Stiles lied. “Okay, so I have a concussion and my chest has a massive rip in it but I’ll… I’ll be fine.”

            “He needs to get to a hospital Derek,” Scott said urgently.

            Stiles couldn’t see how badly he was hurt but it can’t have been good from Scott’s voice. Derek snarled at him and clutched Stiles’ tighter, the wolf’s protective instinct taking over.

            “Police…” Stiles got out. His whole body, even his bones, was shaking. “We need to call the police.”

            “What? But-”

            “It’s what regular people would do in a kidnapping. It’s what- it’s what we need to do?”

            “But he’s seen us,” said Isaac.

            Mark reached up to hit Isaac in the groin, but the boy punched down, knocking the man out cold.

            “He’s a fucking certified insane crazy ass wannabe murderer,” Stiles spat out. As usual Derek’s arms were leaching the fear and hurt away. If he was in Derek’s arms something was right in the universe. “No one will believe him, so can we please get the fuck out of here before I bleed to death.”

            Scott was already calling the cops. Stiles stood up and immediately regretted it. He’d left his brain about a foot behind his head and he nearly collapsed back down. Derek caught him and ran a hand through his hair. The pain subsided but Stiles could still feel the sinister cloudiness of his concussion dulling his brain. He really did need to get to a hospital. He heard Scott asking them to send an ambulance too. His Dad was going to be so mad.

            “How did you find me?” Stiles asked.

            “Danny. Hacked the system. Found all the messages sent from Derek’s number.”

            “Danny?” Stiles said trying to connect all the dots when they weren’t in the right place in his head. “Danny’s here? Where is he-”

            “What. The. Fuck.”

            Danny was standing in the corridor looking at them. No. He was looking at Isaac. The fully wolfed out Isaac standing over the bloody body of a man who didn’t look like he was breathing too well.

            Fear changed Isaac back instantly. He took a step forward towards Danny who staggered backwards looking at him with horror.

            “What the fuck? What the fuck?” Danny kept saying over and over again.

            “Danny. I can explain. Just-”

            Allison ran up behind Danny, looking at the scene and realising she was too late.

            “I’m sorry Derek I tried but he’s the goalie of the lacrosse team-”

            “WHAT THE FUCK!” screamed Danny again. “I mean I knew something was up with you guys suddenly getting all buddy-buddy but what the fuck!”

            Isaac approached Danny, trying to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder but he jerked his arm away and took a few larger steps back, holding his hands out in warning.

            “Danny. Danny. I know this is a shock,” said Allison holding his hands. “When I found out that Scott was a werewolf-”

            “A werewolf!” Danny exclaimed. “Are you kidding me! A fucking werewolf! This is a joke right? A prank? Well not funny guys.”

            “Danny,” pleaded Isaac. “Danny this isn’t a joke. But the police are going to be here any minute-”

            “ _Fuck the police!_ You’re telling me that you’re a fucking werewolf and I’m supposed to be fucking calm about this?”

            Allison laid a reassuring hand on Danny, calming him down, trying to get him to go along with the plan. The room was alive with sound and colours and people moving back and forth quickly. Everyone was shouting at each other. It was making Stiles feel really sick. He felt the vomit rising in this throat as he threw up. Derek’s face appeared before him, blurred like they were underwater.

            Where was that damn ambulance?


	18. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is in hospital recovering from his concussion. Again.

            “You need to talk to someone about this,” Stiles’ Dad insisted. “A professional.”

            “I’m fine Dad,” said Stiles for the thirtieth time as he adjusted himself in the hospital bed. Despite the countless hours he’d spent in one of these things he still hadn’t worked out how to sit in it comfortably. If he could get through the rest of today without throwing up or blacking out then the doctors would let him go home and everything would be fine.

            “No. You’re not. You’ve been through a huge trauma and this isn’t the first time.”

            “I know someone,” said Angela. “He’s good, he’ll help.”

            A Sentinel no doubt, thought Stiles. Someone who know all about the things that go bump in the night.

            “I don’t need to talk to anyone. Yeah I was kidnapped but I got free. Me. I did that.”

            He’d done it without his powers too. Why could no one see that? He was a badass. He didn’t need a shrink.

            “Just go to a session Stiles,” said Angela. “It helps to have someone to talk to about these things.”

            Derek walked in. He nearly walked over to Stiles’ bedside before remembering that the Sheriff was there and going to hover in the corner, looking as inconspicuous as possible. His Dad didn’t even seem to really register Derek’s presence. He hadn’t even at the warehouse. It was a sign of his Dad’s concern that he still hadn’t yelled at Stiles for going off to an abandoned warehouse by himself. Instead he’d just thanked Derek for being there to protect his son, then proceeded to ignore every touch and look his son and the older man shared. Even the jokey comments had ceased and Stiles had stopped even touching his boyfriend when his Dad was around. It was easier to pretend that way.

            His Dad checked his watch.

            “I gotta go to work,” he said. “You sure you’ll be-”

            “Yes!” shouted Stiles. “Go protect people who actually need protecting.”

            His Dad bade them farewell. As he left the room his eyes seemed to glide over Derek like he wasn’t even there. The werewolf tried to hide his pained expression but Stiles still saw it.

            “I should be going too,” said Angela. She cast a look over to Derek in the corner, sensing the two of them wanted to be alone. “How is the Sight?”

            Since the warehouse Stiles visions had gone. Just gone. He’d spent hours trying to find them but they evaded him no matter what he tried.

            “It’s just the concussion right.”

            Angela paused for that fraction of a second too long before answering.

            “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. You rely on them too much anyway. It might do you some good to have a break from them for a while.”

            That was her again. Classic Angela. Avoiding the topic and being mysterious. She gave them her own goodbye and left.

            Derek stepped out from where he’d been waiting, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He walked over and sat down on the side of Stiles’ bed, scooping up his hand and kissing it gently.

            “So how are you really,” asked Derek.

            “Oh don’t you start,” said Stiles. He threw back the covers and got out of bed, needing to stretch himself out. He raised his hands high above his head as he stared out the window.

            “I think they’re right,” said Derek. “I think you do need to talk to someone about this.”

            “Derek, I’m-”

            “Fine. I know. But you’ve been through a lot and not just this. I love you and I would do anything to keep you safe but I can only protect your body. I can’t do jack shit about your mind.”

            Hands slid about Stiles’ waist as he stood at the window and he felt the rough graze of Derek’s stubble against his neck. He didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything. Just stood there, perfectly fitting around Stiles. Derek kissed him lightly on the neck then took one long sniff of his boyfriend’s aroma.

            “I miss your smell,” said Derek, making Stiles chuckle.

            “You see me every day,” said Stiles. “For several hours more than you’re supposed to. My stink must be all over you.”

            The first night Melissa McCall had walked in to see Derek curled up against Stiles in the hospital bed she’d nearly pepper sprayed the werewolf. Now she made sure to bring an extra pillow.

            “Yeah but you don’t smell like Stiles,” said Derek. “You smell like hospital.”

            Didn’t Stiles know it. Smell was supposed to have much stronger memory attachments than sights and sounds did. Hospitals had a very specific smell and none of the memories associated there were any good. It was what he hated most about his many and varied trips to this particular building.

            “I’ll get out of here soon then I can go back to working up my usual stench.”

            He twisted round to face Derek. So concerned. Stiles leaned their heads together and held him close.

            “I’m fine. Seriously. I’m just sick of always being the one to end up in hospital.”

            Derek’s hands ran down his arm, fingers wrapping around his wrist. He lifted it up, kissing at the point where Stiles pulse was throbbing.

            “If you could, would you take it?” he asked.

            They’d talked about Derek giving Stiles’ the bite when they first realised they were serious about each other. It had been a short conversation. Stiles place in the council meant that the bite wouldn’t take even if they tried.

            “If you were the one biting me?” Stiles said lightly. He pulled his hand away, tugging his sleeve back down over his wrist self-consciously. “It wouldn’t work, so it doesn’t matter anyway. Of course, I suppose if my powers have gone then maybe the bar has gone as well and-”

            Derek pulled him in close again. It didn’t matter that his powers were gone, Stiles told himself. He was still capable of holding his own. Just because he wasn’t special anymore didn’t mean he was any less awesome. He’d still be fine.

            “Shh,” Derek whispered and Stiles just held on. “Promise me you’ll be more careful. You _do_ rely on your Sight too much and if it cuts out again it could be at a much worse time. You could have died…”

            Derek’s voice cracked.

            “I wasn’t going to die,” Stiles soothed.

            “Don’t be so easy going about it,” Derek said pulling back. “I know you got free on your own, I know that. But what if you hadn’t? What if he’d been a werewolf? Or a faery? When you get hurt you don’t heal in a second, you end up spending two nights in hospital recovering from a serious concussion. You could die so easily.”

            “You don’t think I know that!” Stiles replied.

            “I know you do. You make jokes and you blow it off like it’s no big thing and then go and do the exact same fucking thing two weeks later and end up right back here because that’s who you are and that is why I love you but if anything happened to you-”

            “I knew wasn’t doing to die because you weren’t there!” Stiles shouted.

            His sudden outburst took Derek aback.

            “What?”

            Stiles put his hands on his hips and focused his frustration into his words.

            “I knew I wasn’t going to die because you weren’t there. When I first put on the white coat and joined the Council I saw how I died. Absolutely. Set in stone. It’s part of the deal. At first all I knew was that I wasn’t afraid. When I die I’m at peace with it and I sure as hell wasn’t at peace then. There was someone with me, I could tell that, I just didn’t know who. Then that first time we spent the whole night together, that first night you slept over with me in your arms, I dreamt about dying again and I knew that that person was you.”

            Derek crossed the gap between them and kissed Stiles. All the anger of his speech transferred into that kiss, passion a hundred fold stronger than his rage.

            “Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Derek asked. He sounded slightly hurt.

            “Never a good time. We’d only just gotten together. For real I mean. I thought it might be a bit weird to be all ‘hey, Derek. Turns out I die in your arms, how awesome is that’. I thought it might be a bit too much too soon.”

            Derek nodded but he was still frowning. “You know how you’re going to die? How could you bear that?”

            Derek sounded like he’d never expected Stiles to die. Like that as long as they could avoid the dark things that move in the night then they’d live forever but that’s what everyone assumes, when they are young.

            “Because I don’t know everything,” Stiles soothed. “I don’t know when it happens. Not even too sure on the how, where and why. It still looks foggy to me. The light is kind of orangey I think, like a sunset maybe, except it’s moving like it’s being reflected off of water.”

            He could still see it in his mind, unclear as ever. The sound was strange too, like he was listening to it through a wall. Stiles shook his head.

            “But right now that doesn’t matter. I’m alive, you’re here and when my Dad finishes work they’re letting him take me home.”

            Derek kissed him again but he still looked sad.

            “You need to talk to your Dad,” said Derek.

            Stiles slid away from Derek. He remembered his Dad’s face when Derek had put his arms around Stiles’ shoulders when he’d been repeatedly vomiting. It was that same look of conscious disbelief. Stiles loved his Dad, he loved his Dad so very, very much but he couldn’t even look at him knowing that he had a problem with his relationship with Derek. He couldn’t cope with that, not on top of everything else.

            “Derek. Would you mind, uh, not coming round tonight?”

            “Why?” said Derek, taking a step back.

            “It’s just that… I think I need a night to myself. Just feel all of this, you know? And I can’t do that if you’re there being so goddamn reasonable.”

            Derek nodded. He understood.

            “Okay. But I reserve the right to prowl around the block. Just in case anything comes to hurt you. You need me, you scream, I’m there.”

            Stiles laughed and hugged Derek close to himself again.

            “Sure. Just make sure no one sees you. My Dad’ll be on high alert. He thinks there’s a prowler he’s going to be mighty trigger happy.”

            Derek smiled at him, the private smile only Stiles got to see.

            “Let’s get you home then, you poor pathetic little human.”

            “Whatever, you monstrous beast.”


	19. Prophesy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Angela go for an important meeting in the woods.

            The full moon shone down on Angela and Stiles, making their white coats glow in the darkness of the forest. Derek would be out there somewhere keeping Jackson in check. The others had all found their anchors, cementing them into human form but Jackson was still working on it. Derek had nearly left the pack to take care of themselves, wanting to keep a watchful eye over Stiles.

            Anger. That’s what Derek’s anchor had been for so long but not anymore. Now it was Stiles. Ever since that first time in the locker room, long before any words of love had been exchanged between them. Stiles was the anchor that kept Derek from being lost to the wolves that warred within him.

            “Just a little further now,” Angela said.

            “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

            “Nope. Don’t worry though.” She winked at him knowingly. “You’re not going to end up in hospital.”

            “Safe place then?”

            “Ha! Hell no! It’s one of the most dangerous places on the planet. You just wouldn’t end up in hospital. Unless you count the morgue and only after they found all the pieces.” Stiles knew better than to ask. He probably wouldn’t like the answer anyway. She was looking at him again. “How are you feeling anyway?”

            “Alright. Chest is still a bit sore but it’s going to leave a bitching scar. Something to woo the ladies with.”

            “That’s not what I meant Stiles.”

            “I know.”

            They trekked on in silence, the tangible kind that seems to fill in your ears and demand to be filled. It was Angela who filled it.

            “We’re not superhuman you know. This coat doesn’t give us any protection to our minds. A mental wound is just like any other. It can seem harmless at first but if you let it fester then it can prove fatal. Ever heard the phrase ‘death by a thousand cuts’? Chinese emperors sometimes had people executed by only cutting them gently. Eventually there were enough cuts for a man to bleed to death or to amputate a limb. It can be the same with the mind. This life is a tough one. It can break people.”

            “You sound like Derek. That’s not about to happen anytime soon,” said Stiles. “I’ll let you know if any cracks start to appear.”

            “Good. You got thrown into this world from a stand still. I got to ease into all this nice and gently before my first gore fest.”

            “Yeah not so much in my case. More ‘ _werewolves exist, now run for your life!_ ’ I think it was less than a month between Scott getting bitten and getting locked in school at night trying to avoid getting eaten by your boyfriend.”

            “Peter is not my boyfriend,” Angela said for the hundredth time.

            “Sure. You just spend all your time at his house, go out to the movies with him, talk to him every day…”

            “He is a friend. Who is a boy. A man. He is a man friend. Emphasis on the _man_. So not my thing.”

            “Whatever you say.”

            “Good evening, My Lady of the White.”

            Stiles spun around back towards where they had come from. A group of people were standing where there definitely had not been a group of people standing only seconds previously. No. Not people. Faeries. Many of them were men, dressed in what he assumed was faery armour but as it appeared to be made of glass or crystal Stiles had serious doubts about its protective capabilities. They stood around a woman dressed entirely in dark green silk, her auburn hair caught up in a golden crow.

            Beside him Angela sank of one knee. Stiles stood gawping for a second before she grabbed his elbow and yanked him down beside her.

            “And this must be the young one I have heard so much about from that scoundrel cousin of mine.”

            The woman swept her arms forward and Angela got to her feet, once more having to drag Stiles with her. The woman in green walked up to him and regarded him. She was more graceful than the other faeries he’d seen and far more beautiful though the underlying feeling of wrongness still haunted Stiles when he looked on her.

            “They tell me that you run with wolves but not tonight I see. ‘Tis a dangerous thing to join them in their jaunts.”

            “Only if you don’t know when to get the hell out of the way,” he said.

            The woman laughed like a spring breeze dancing through the trees.

            “I shall have to pass this wisdom onto my guard.”

            “Your highness,” said Angela. “It’s your cousin we want to talk to you about.”

            “Oh I know what you want to talk to me about,” said the queen waving her arm at Angela. “Eoghan’s been bragging about his plans to kill your dear nephew for days, sending in the mad man to do the work for him.”

            “Any you did-”

            Stiles stopped when Angela smacked him upside the head where it was still bruised from being hit by a pipe. The queen looked at him with a flash of fury but it passed as quickly as it came, instead laughing at the two of them together.

            “Families. Eoghan might be my cousin but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate the bastard. Alas he has done nothing wrong to break the treaty between our two people. Been most careful about that. He’s being a crafty beggar, make no mistake.” She made no comment about her trying to stop him or dissuade him from his path, Stiles noted. “Should he break the treaty and attack the young council man directly, he shall be immediately renounced from the clan, of course, and therefore no longer under our protection, nor the treaties and therefore subject to your judgement. No need to wait for a trial or bother with something as pesky as proof. We’ll take your word that he shot first.”

            Eoghan must have been really unpopular if even his own kind were that willing to be shot of him. Perhaps most faeries weren’t that bad. The queen turned to Angela again.

            “I hear the Sight has gone,” she said bluntly.

            “Mine and Stiles’ both,” his aunt replied.

            “What!” said Stiles.

            He suddenly felt open. Undefended. He might not have his sight but at least he had Angela to hide behind. Now she was Blind too? They were screwed!

            “The time of prophesy is upon us,” the Queen said ominously. “I’m rather excited! It’s been a good few hundred years since we had a good prophesy in these parts. Especially one with so much doom, death and destruction.”

            “It’s my first. I don’t see it as quite so much fun,” said Angela bluntly.

            “Prophesy? Doom? Death? Can someone fill in Stiles over here?”

            The queen seemed so delighted in his cluelessness that she didn’t think to be annoyed by his insolence.

            “Have you not told him about it? Dana Almighty what did you think was going on?” She laughed, at once beautiful and terrifying. “There once was a man called ‘the Hermit’ who decided that he wanted nothing better in the world than to sit in a hole in the middle of the desert and write down all the ways that the world was going to end.”

            “So he was a crazy person?” said Stiles.

            “Oh most definitely,” said Angela. “That didn’t stop him from being right. The Hermit’s prophesies have been kept by the faeries since they were first written down over four thousand years ago.”

            “Sometimes I think it’s the only reason you’re lot keeps us around,” said the queen, a dangerous edge to her voice.

            “Of course not my queen. You guarded them long before the first of the Council ever donned the white.” Angela turned to Stiles. “The faeries have always watched the world, both above and below the surface. When one of the prophesies kick in, they can tell us which one.

            “This particular one is one of my favourites. Heralded in by the _wolf born from the ashes of worms,_ the _beast sprung from the king of hunters_ and _the monster twice saved, once by love, once by loathing._ The whole thing is rather long and ponderous, I’ll grant you but I think the last paragraph sums it up nicely. _Beware the lull between the storms, for in the quiet shall come the greatest threat of all. In two worlds will they walk yet set no foot in either but should the path be worn unhindered then all the world will fall to darkness and blood.”_

            Stiles stared at her.

            “I have no idea what you just said,” said Stiles.

            “Peter, Gerard, Jackson. They were omens. Sign posts to let us know that something worse was coming.”

            “Something worse?” said Stiles.

            “The destroyer of the world of men,” said the faery queen with glee. “You get one or two coming along every century. Your race has not made yourself a lot of friends in the supernatural community but you’re just so much fun to play with I’d hate to see you go.”

            “We think we know who it is,” said Angela. “The boy Jackson. We’ve still not confirmed it, but we’ve been following him and it looks likely.”

            The queen’s face broke into a vicious snarl. “That foul creature? Yes, that would make sense. The seed of a human grown in a faery womb. _In two worlds born_ indeed and I assure you that abomination will never set foot in mine.”

            The shift in her demeanour shocked Stiles. He’d nearly forgotten what she was.

            “We are not sure my lady,” said Angela. “He might still be innocent.”

            “That _thing_ is not innocent. He wears the sins of his mother and father on his very soul. I hope he is the one you seek. Should you have need, the Tuathe De Dannan will be ever glad to help in the monster’s obliteration.”

            The queen turned, and in the swirl of her own gowns she disappeared, taking her guard with her. Stiles looked at the clearing, blinking rapidly.

            “What just happened?” he asked.

            “Hmm,” said Angela considering. She started walking back in the direction they had first come.

            “Don’t you _hmm_ , me. Everytime you _hmm_ it means something bad. You said it about Jackson and now he’s off poisoning half the town.”

            “We don’t know he’s doing it,” said Angela. “Innocent until proven guilty. This is no different.”

            “He’s looking pretty guilty though isn’t he.”

            “You don’t sound happy about that.”

            “That’s because I’m not. I know I never liked Jackson-”

            “Loathed I believe it says in the prophesy,” said Angela

            “What?”

            “Saved once by love, once by loathing. Lydia was the love, you were the loathing.”

            “But I don’t…”

            Angela didn’t need to say anything. Sometimes all it took was a look. Her looks were just a lot more judgemental.

            “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you’d lost your Sight!” Stiles burst out.       

            “You and I aren’t the only people who have lost our ability to see the future. Everyone has. Anyone who could see the future, Council or otherwise, can’t see it anymore.”

            Stiles stopped watching Angela as she marched onwards.

            “Everyone? It’s just gone. How can it just be gone?”

            “We’re in a prophesy,” Angela said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

            “So it’s like kryptonite? Some mad guy says something and now I’ve lost all my super powers?”

            “In a way,” said Angela. “And you haven’t lost all your powers, just your Sight. Your Uncle Connor explained it all to me once. He's a quantum-electro-something-or-other physicist over in London trying to work out the science behind what we do or some shit. When we see something in the future it’s just one possibility. All the other possibilities still exist, just some have a higher probability than the others. It doesn’t solidify until the moment that it happens. You get a prophesy and that sets a particular moment in stone, no matter what happens before or after that moment will happen as it has been Seen to. It’s like our deaths. The moment that a Council member dies there’s a brief moment of Sightlessness because the time line is pinned at that moment. Connor said these prophesies act like anchor points in the time line, stopping it from getting swept away. He’s currently working on getting this into the theory of general relativity and quantum mechanics. He tried to explain it to me in detail but at some point I blacked out and when I came to the chalk board in his office was just covered in math. It was very traumatising. Am I making any sense?”

            “I did not understand a single word you just said.”

            Angela patted him on the back with a smile.

            “Basically what’s happening now is certain. Because it’s a prophesy it will happen the way it will happen, we can’t change it. Our power lets us see the _probability_ that something might happen, so it won’t work until this is all over. This sort of thing happens from time to time. Different prophecies, different times. Understand?”

            “Not really.”

            She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him.

            “I know this is a lot to take in. You’ve just had this all dumped on you and then yanked away again but some big shit is going down. The whole _world will be covered in darkness_ shit, not a joke. The lights are out and we are on our own. This thing happens the way it happens, the outcome is already fixed but _we_ are the ones who make that outcome happen. There may come a time when we have to do something we really don’t want to do but that’s what being on the Council is.”

            “You’re talking about killing Jackson.”

            “I’m talking about doing what has to be done. Last time you hesitated, and I know why you did and that was the right thing, but if it comes to it this time can you pull the trigger?”

            “On Jackson?”

            “On anyone.”

            Could he pull the trigger on a living breathing person? Someone he knew, someone he’d fought beside, studied with, argued with. If he had to, if it was the only way, could he kill someone and watch as the life drained out right in front of him?

            Yes. He could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a physicist. I usually have in under control but at times it just comes out. I'm sorry. If you didn't get any of the science bit just replace those paragraphs with 'wibbly wobbly timy whimy stuff' or feel free to ask me about it. I like science-ing!
> 
> NB - There is no evidence in either QM or General relativity that time needs to be fixed at points. That's just artistic licence. Don't sue me.
> 
> This is one of those chapters that had to get rewritten a bunch of times. Hope it's okay.


	20. Werewolves, Faeries and Madmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His powers gone and a poisoner on the loose, Stiles needs to learn how to defend himself.

            “And again,” said Derek.

            He pulled Stiles up off the floor where he’d just thrown him. They bumped their faces into each other and for a moment Stiles felt the familiar rush of want, could see it reflected in Derek but they stepped away and prepared to do the drill again.

            He _had_ been relying on his Sight too much. He was stronger than he’d ever been, faster too, but he wasn’t fast enough. Luckily his muscles seemed to remember how to do the moves when he and Derek spared but they weren’t coming fast or hard enough anymore to take him down.

            It was at times like this that their relationship got weird, when Stiles was just another member of the pack. They wouldn’t avoid each other, not exactly, just not be all over each other. It was all part of Derek exerting his place as alpha of the pack and Stiles didn’t like to interfere. The two of them might think that Stiles was just as much an alpha as Derek was but to the others he was still just Stiles, their goofy friend who made sarcastic comments all the time.

            Again Derek came at him, diving left this time and grabbing Stiles around the waist, flipping him up and slamming him back down into the ground.

            “Jesus Derek!” Stiles shouted rubbing his back. “My organs fail when repeatedly pummelled. Remember that? The whole point of this was so that I _don’t_ get beaten to a bloody pulp. I think I can feel my spleen rupturing. I don’t even know what a spleen is but I’m pretty sure it’s what that pain is.”

            Derek growled as he hauled Stiles back up off the floor, again, and set him on his feet.

            “Fine. We can take a break but then we’re getting right back on this.”

            The two of them collapsed down onto the sofa. The other beta’s who had been training by themselves, trying to ignore Stiles getting repeatedly thrown to the floor, took it as a sign it was time for a break and followed.

            “You’re moving too soon,” said Derek ignoring the rest of the pack. “You need to wait for me to go and react to what I do.”

            “Waiting has never been my strong suit.”

            “Don’t I know it. You need to get this down or you’re going to end up in the hospital on a more permanent basis.”

            “Or maybe I just need to go back to solving all my problems with sarcasm rather than my fists,” Stiles grinned. It could be fun winding Derek up sometimes. “Besides, I know how I die so I’ll just, you know, not go near you and everything’ll be fine.”

            “Go back to…You can’t just… Ahh!” Derek shouted, rendered inarticulate with frustration. “Stiles I love you but you are such a massive idiot! Just because you know you won’t _die_ doesn’t mean you’ll be okay. You know what you’re like. You do something without thinking it all the way through and it goes to hell. It’s worse now because you’re used to knowing how the ending is going to go so you’ve stopped even _thinking_ about what might happen. Just because you don’t die doesn’t mean you can’t get your head caved in and end up in a coma for thirty years, or be in traction for months because you’ve broken every bone in your body or end up getting someone _else_ killed. You’re part of this now, you’re right in at the centre and you can’t avoid it. You have to learn how to protect yourself. Why are you laughing?”

            Stiles bit down on lips, looking away from Derek as he finished his rant.

            “I’m not laughing,” said Stiles, trying very hard to not sound like he was, in fact, laughing.

            “You’re smirking?” said Derek.

            Stiles waved his hand, like it was no big deal. “It’s nothing.”

            “No. It’s not. It’s something. What is it?”

            “I don’t want to say,” he said picking at his sleeve. “You’ll get pissed at me.”

            “I’m already pissed at you!” Derek said.

            “Fine!” said Stiles loudly. “God!”

            He tried to ignore the questioning looks all the other pack members were giving him. They didn’t know that this kind of concerned, playful bickering was all part of what made them a couple. To them it looked like he and Derek were about to start going ten rounds with each other.

            Stiles leaned in close, putting his arm around Derek’s shoulders.

            “That's the first time you've ever said you loved me when other people could hear.”

            “What are you talking about,” said Derek, angry and confused. “I tell you all the time.”

            “Sure,” said Stiles. “When we're alone, not when anyone’s listening.”

            “That is not true!”

            “Actually Derek he’s right,” said Isaac. “None of us have ever heard you say it, not even me and I live with you. We were all starting to get a bit worried.”

            “Worried?” asked Derek. “Why are you getting worried about my love life? It’s not like it affects me as an alph-”

            “Not for you,” snapped Scott. “For Stiles. We know why you broke up and it didn’t look like you’d changed. You were still being all distant when Stiles obviously adores you.”

            “Aww, my friends care,” said Stiles. He looked across at Derek, sat there totally confused as he wracked his memories.

            “I know I've said it before. I must have.”

            “Not to any of us,” said Boyd.

            “Why didn't someone say something?” said Derek to his pack, then turned to Stiles. “Why didn't you?

            “I thought you knew you were doing it,” Stiles laughed.

            “Besides you are kind of scary Derek,” said Scott.

            “Don’t worry about it,” said Stiles rubbing Derek on the arm. “I don’t mind.”

            “Well, you should,” said Derek snappily.

            Stiles scooted in closer and lowered his voice. All the others could still hear obviously but that wasn’t the point. “I know you’ve got all your issues up in that pretty little head of yours. You told me and I knew you meant it. That’s all I need.”

            Derek took one of Stiles’ hands in his, using the other one to run his fingers through Stiles’ hair.

            “Yeah but-”

            “Because of 'and stuff',” Stiles cut off. It was his turn to be exasperated. “I didn't mind because of 'and stuff'.”

            He didn't need to say any more. He looked into Derek’s eyes and he could feel how much he loved and was loved by this man. Stiles lifted up their entwined fingers, bringing them to his lips and kissing the back of Derek’s hand. Derek pulled it back across and did the same before leaning their heads together and letting out a contented chuckle.

            “Aww, you two really are adorable.” said Erica, reminding them that they were in a room filled with pack.

            “Erica,” warned Derek.

            “No. Really. It’s like you’re two big puppies in wuv.”

            Derek sprang back up from the couch and grabbed Erica by the shoulder and shoved him back.

            “Right. That’s it. Long enough break. Everyone back to work.”

            “Stiles, control your husband!”

            “Yeah Derek do what the little lady tells you!”

            “Little lady? Screw you Scott. Make ‘em bleed honey.”

 

*****

 

            Stiles sat back against Derek’s pillows, scrunching his fingers into Derek’s hair. Derek lay across his chest, fingers tracing spirals across the bare flesh, swirling around the skin that was puckered by stitches and scar tissue of the cut left by Mark. Neither of them looked like they were seeking sleep anytime soon but nor were either of them speaking. They were just lying there together, each lost in their own thoughts.

            “Everything alright?” Derek asked. “You seem like you’re somewhere else tonight.”

            He laid a kiss to Stiles peck as he looked up at him but Stiles was still staring off into the far distance.

            “Sorry. I am, kind of.”

            “Sometimes we need to go away. I could tell you weren’t really here when we were making love.”

            Stiles hummed in agreement before playing the words back in his head.

            “I’m sorry did you just say ‘making love’ and manage to keep a straight face?” Derek pulled a face up at him. “Why does everyone think I’m the girl in this relationship when it is so obviously you.”

            “I’m not a girl, Stiles,” said Derek dragging his fingers down to Stiles abs. His claws were out a little and the delicately pressed points felt nice against Stiles’ skin. “Neither are you. It’s kind of the point of having sex with another guy. Just because I’m sleeping with a man doesn’t change my genitalia.”

            “Technically you’re sleeping with a boy, you great big statutory rapist.”

            Derek dragged his nail a bit deeper, not so it cut but just so that Stiles could feel it against his stomach.

            “Why do you say these things to hurt me?”

            “Because I love you and stuff,” said Stiles. He pressed his lips into the top of Derek’s head and kept them there. The question came out before he’d even known it was coming. “Derek, are you gay?”

            Derek’s fingers stopped their tracing of his body and looked up at him.

            “What?”

            “Well… I mean there was Kate and I know that was a massive fuck up and now…”

            “No,” said Derek, cutting off that trail of thought. “I’m not ‘gay’.”

            “So you’ve been with any other girls?”

            “A few. In New York. Was all just sex though. Trying to get the memory of _her_ out.”

            “Any other guys?”

            Derek shook his head.

            “Just you. But I think it’s different for me. I can see a guy or a girl is attractive but not feel attracted to them. When I _am_ attracted to someone though, it’s like the rest of the world just goes away, like no one else could possibly be important or ever measure up. It’s what happened with Kate. Happened with you too. It took me a long time before I jumped you in the locker rooms though. I was afraid you’d end up being another Kate.”

            Derek was looking at Stiles a little uncertain. He lowered his head and nuzzled back into Stiles, pulling closer to feel his warmth.

            “So you’re like, a what, a Stiles-o-sexual?”

            Derek laughed, his breath hot and wet on Stiles chest.

            “Something like that. That’s not what’s really on your mind though.”

            “I hate that you know me so well.”

            Stiles told him everything he’d learnt the previous night. The prophesy, the queen, his powers, all of it. Derek grunted into his side to show he was still listening, his hand constantly moving over Stiles’ body.

            “And you think this person’s Jackson?”

            “Looking that way. Third strike,” said Stiles staring blankly.

            “What are you going to do?”

            Stiles shook his head.

            “Something very unpleasant that I don’t want to have on my conscience, but there we go.” He sighed deeply.

            “What was it you said last time you were about to kill him? ‘It was too easy’. That killing people shouldn’t be easy.”

            “When has my life’s ever been eas-”

            Derek jerked his head up off of Stiles, letting the cold night air swirl in and raise goose bumps on his flesh. After a second on full alert Derek shook his head and snuggled back in.       

            “Thought I heard something,” he said. “It was just Isaac or Peter going to the bathroom.”

            “Guess I’m going to have to stick to you after all. You can protect me from all the werewolves with full bladers. I’m getting tired of constantly looking over my shoulder all the time. I need to get you to do it for me.”

            “I should warn you I might spend a lot of time looking over your ass.”

            Stiles shuffled down in bed and kissed Derek again.

            “Shouldn’t you be getting home soon,” said Derek wrapping his body around Stiles. “Your Dad will be worried.”

            Stiles turned over in bed so his back was to Derek. Ever since Mark had kidnapped him Stiles’ father was trying to keep his son under an iron yoke. It was to keep him safe, Stiles knew that. The curfews and restrictions, it was all to make sure he wasn’t going to get hurt again. But every time his father attempted to lay down some new rule Stiles broke it, flagrantly and pointedly. What was his Dad going to do, chain him up in the basement? Lock him in the freezer like Isaac’s Dad? Duct tape him to a chair?

            “I don’t give a crap what my Dad thinks.”

            “Stiles-”

            “You saw his face Derek. Every time that you were there in the hospital room, when you held my hand you saw his face. He doesn’t _want_ to believe, Derek. He can’t stand what his son is but he doesn’t want to hate me for it so he just pretends he doesn’t see Derek and I can’t-”

            “Shh,” said Derek.

            He wrapped his arms tightly around Stiles so he couldn’t move but it was more like he was keeping him together.

            “It’s okay,” Derek said over and over as Stiles let himself sob great catching sobs. “Just let it out.”

            “It’s not fair!” Stiles managed. “I can cope with werewolves, faeries and madmen trying to kill me at every opportunity. I can deal with getting sent to the hospital every five minutes but having to know that my Dad might love me just a little bit less because of who he fell in love with… I don’t know how you’re supposed to start dealing with that.”

            “You are the strongest person I know,” said Derek. “You always have been. You’ve been through more than anyone should have to go through and you are still standing. You’re Dad loves you and yeah, maybe he could be taking this better but he will always love you and he will always be there for you. Just like me.”

            Stiles knew that Derek was right. He wasn’t always but on this, Derek was right.

            “Can I stay here tonight still?” Stiles asked.

            “Of course,” said Derek. “Stay here for as long as you want.”

 

 


	21. Lunexorcise

            Stiles performance at lacrosse practice was actually worse than it had been before the magic makeover. He blamed his terrible performance on the major concussion that he’d only just been released from hospital over and Coach allowed that a little bit of PTSD was bound to affect a guy’s performance on the field. At least people’s concern had some use.

            Afterwards in the locker room the rest of the team were unusually understanding about his crappy playing. Normally there would be name calling and some of the bigger players would tell him to step up if he didn’t want to get cut. Not today though. Not with poor little broken Stiles, the boy who got kidnapped. Again.

            Everyone was looking at him funny at school, even his friends. Especially his friends. They were treating him with kid gloves, like he was going to just snap and freak out at any time. Yes, he’d gotten kidnapped, but they all seemed to have forgotten that he’d been the one to get free. The ordeal hadn’t made him weaker and more fragile. It had made him stronger. Why could no one see that?

            God he wished Derek were here. Derek was the only person who didn’t treat him like he was about to fall apart at a crossed word. No. Derek just threatened to kill anything that ever hurt Stiles again, and sure he might get a bit overprotective at times but Derek didn’t tell him to hide. Derek taught him how to fight.

            “Hey Stiles,” said Danny. “How are you feeling?”

            “Okay. Still get a little bit dizzy at times. It looks like the scar on my chest is going to be something to woo the ladies with.”

            “I thought you were gay now,” said Danny.

            “Anti-discrimination starts in bed my friend though I am enjoying my happily ever after right now, so wooing on hold for the time being.”

            Stiles cast his eyes over to where Isaac was standing with Scott and Boyd. Danny leaned against the locker watching his boyfriend, the werewolf, joke around with all the other werewolves.    

            “Enough about me,” said Stiles. “How are you doing? I’m used to getting hit upside the head but you just got all this dumped on you.”

            “I’m okay too, weirdly enough. I think the whole-” Danny paused and looked around. “Isaac’s deal, I knew something was up. He explained everything. Eventually. After I screamed a lot but… I think, I think we’ll be okay. We’re taking things slow again, going on a date tonight. We kind of stopped going on ‘dates’ a while ago, so we’re going back to that place and just… getting to know each other again in the light of this new revelation.”

            “It has just occurred to me that I _still_ have never been on an actual date with my boyfriend.”

            “Eh,” said Danny. “They’re not all that great. You sit in a restaurant, having to stop your conversation every time someone walks past, go watch a movie that neither of you really want to see, end up trying to make out even though the seats are really uncomfortable and you can’t get the angles right and you basically know that you’re both just killing time until you can get into each other’s pants.”

            A sidewards glance at Isaac’s expression as he faked listened to Scott and Boyd told Stiles that he was really listening to Stiles and Danny and liked what he heard.

            “You do know that Isaac just heard all that right?”

            Danny looked across just as Isaac tried doubly hard to not smirk and look interested in whatever Scott was saying.

            “Kind of what I was going for,” said Danny sauntering over. Yeah. They were going to be alright.

            Stiles put his bag over his shoulder and began to walk out to his Jeep. He was just unlocking the car when someone grabbed his shoulder. He reached with both hands, taking their arm, dropped his centre of gravity and twisted his hips. The person’s arm locked out, their own weight carrying them over so that they thumped onto their back.

            He looked down into a familiar face.

            “Would you mind not kneeling on my chest?” said Angela.

            Stiles got up but knew better than to extend a hand to help her up. He was pretty sure that his aunt had let him throw her, that if she’d wanted then he would be on the floor. Usually when he threw her like that or subdued her she was smiling with pride. Right now though, she looked utterly grim.

            “What’s happened?”

            She looked across to where Jackson was getting into his Jeep. Stiles waved at him, trying not to look guilty. There was a bug in Jackson’s car, tracing his movements. There was a tracker on his phone, recording all his messages, cameras installed in his home. They’d even pulled his internet companies records to find out what websites he was visiting. The power of the Weisse Rat under the moniker of the FBI. They were invading every facet of Jackson’s life while Stiles had to smile and wave, pretending they weren’t plotting his downfall.

            “There’s been another incident.”

            Stiles rolled his eyes back in his head.

            “Where?”

            “The community centre that you followed Jackson to. He went back a week later and the next day practically every person who’d been there was in the hospital.”

            “Everyone?”

            “Pretty much. He got the water tank. The people who washed their hands in the bathroom ended up with blisters and rashes, people using the drinking fountains were hurling, hundreds of people ended up in the ER.”

            “That’s not all is it?”

            She shook her head.

            “A couple of them had enough of a dose to end up in ICU. It’s still touch and go.”

            Stiles felt his face harden. He understood why his aunt did this. It was to stop you from feeling everything, the true horror of what was going on around you.

            “How many.”

            “Seven. So far.”

            Stiles stood there in silence. He knew what he had to do, what he had to say.

            “It’s all still circumstantial. Means, opportunity, motive. Okay so he’s got the first two, but what about the third? What possible reason would Jackson have for doing this? Have you found anything, anything on the wire taps or whatever that confirms it’s him? We can’t just go and destroy him unless we’re sure. Even if-”

            “They were kids Stiles,” she said quietly. “The ones in ICU, a youth group having a basketball match. Under 12s. They still might not make it. What if it had been the Under 10s? Or a kindergarten play group? We need to act now before people start dying. We’ll interrogate him, try to find out why he’s doing this but whatever the reason he’s a dangerous dog and you don’t let dangerous dogs run free. You put them down.”

            Stiles closed his eyes. “We don’t have a choice do we?”

            “If there’s even a chance it’s him, we have to take him out. He’s been at the centre of this too often. I can get everything together by tomorrow night.”

            “What’s happening tomorrow night?”

            Stiles snapped around as Scott walked up, hankering for a lift home. He looked at Angela. Stiles trusted Scott with his life.

            “We’ll need their help, him and Derek,” said Angela. “We can’t do it with just two of us, he’d see us coming from a mile off.”

            “Help for what?” said Scott. His smile faltered. “If this is some weird bedroom thing then-”

            “The Lunexorcise,” said Stiles rubbing his temple. It sounded so stupid when you said it like that.

            “What the hell is a lunexorcise?” asked Scott.

            “Jackson is hurting people again,” said Angela bluntly. “Not by his own volition I don’t think and I’m not certain he means to kill, but he’s one step away and that is all there is to it. He must be stopped.”

            “Jackson? What?”

            “The wolf’s bane poison. It’s him,” said Angela calmly. “It is my duty to step in.”

            “Step in? You mean you’re going kill Jackson?” hissed Scott. This wasn’t their way. Sure they talked about killing people but when it came down to it they didn’t. They found another way. There was always another way but sometimes that other way was just as bad.

            “No, we’re not going to kill him,” said Angela. “But he may wish we had.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “A Lunexorcise. A lunar exorcism. My and Stiles’ ancestors put the wolf into man and we can wrench it right back out again.”

            Stiles had been expecting Scott to be horrified. What he got was anger.

            “You can… You mean you could have made me human again and you didn’t tell me?”

            Stiles’ laid a hand on Scott’s shoulder. The young wolf’s body relaxed as Stiles took away his worry. Their foresight might be gone but they had other powers afforded to them still in working order.

            “You wouldn’t have wanted me to. When I first read about it in the books the Council sent me I thought about telling you. There are loads of potions and rituals that sound great at first. They’ll make you stronger, faster, better, smarter. Then you read to the side effects warning label on the bottom. One of these rituals will cost you an arm and a leg. Literally. When someone becomes a werewolf it takes over their whole body. Makes everything stronger. You take that wolf back out and you are left with a shell of what went before. Jackson will be broken. Mentally and physically.”

            “So he won’t be a professional lacrosse player?”

            “He won’t be able to run the length of the field,” said Angela.

            Scott looked at Stiles. Stiles begged his friend to understand. To see that he had to do this.

            “What do you need me to do?” asked Scott.


	22. The Waitress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is stuck at home while Derek prepares to take down Jackson.

            “Are you there now? Do you see him?” Stiles asked down the phone.

            “Yeah I see him. You sure about this?” replied Derek.

            “No but we don’t have a freaking choice. Angela’s right. If there’s even the slightest chance it’s him we have to stop it now. It’s not like we’re killing him-”

            “You’re doing the right thing. I’ll call you when I’ve got him.”

            “Okay. Thanks for doing this.”

            “Anything for you. I’ll talk to you soon.”

            “Derek wait! Be careful, okay. I know you’re the alpha and he’s just a beta but it just takes one claw slash and I never see you again.”

            “I’ll be fine.”

            “Stiles!” Stiles’ dad shouted from downstairs.

            “What!” he yelled back before apologising down the phone, “Sorry. Dad’s shouting at me. I’m on the phone!”

            “You should go talk to him,” said Derek on the other end of the line.

            “We’ve been over this Der. I can’t… You’re the most important thing in my life and he’s just ignoring it.”

            There was silence down the line. Derek was never very good at listening to how much Stiles cared for him, not unless he could silence Stiles’ affection with his own lips and hips.

            “Go talk to him,” said Derek at last. “I love you.”

            “Me too.”

            Stiles kept the phone to the side of his head after Derek hung up. He loved that man, so much that sometimes it almost felt like a panic attack. The tightness in his chest that pulled whenever he thought of him, how his heart rate raised when they were near, the feeling of dread he couldn’t shake when Derek was in danger and there was nothing he could do. God, he really was the girl after all.

            Stiles went downstairs to see his father sat at the table. He kept acting like everything was fine, like their relationship wasn’t shattering apart. His Dad was still holding his son hostage half the time. Stiles had tried to explain that it was pointless, there was no risk to him now that Mark was back behind bars in a maximum security hospital for the criminally insane. With this latest spate of poisonings his father was more determined than ever to keep watch over Stiles at all times. This wasn’t bad drugs anymore. This was hitting water systems and taking out children.

            “What did you want Dad?” Stiles asked.

            “Dinner’s ready,” his Dad said pointing at the plates on the side.

            Stiles picked it up and threw it down on the table in a corner that wasn’t covered with papers. Stiles cast an eye over it.

            “Stiles, I know you’re pissed off that I won’t let you out to see your friends.”

            “Won’t let me out to see my friends? You won’t let me out anywhere. You practically clock me in every time I come home from school.”

            “Because when I did let you out to ‘see your friends’ none of them knew where you were, you stayed out all night and wouldn’t answer your phone! I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

            Stiles attacked his potatoes more viciously, biting his tongue when he wanted to scream. He looked at the papers that covered the table.

            “Any closer to cracking this damn thing so I can get my life back?”

            His Dad shook his head.

            “It’s just… it doesn’t make any sense.”

            “What doesn’t?” said Stiles, interest peaked again.

            His Dad looked up at him. His son was talking to him civilly for the first time in weeks but he was still a police officer and these matters were supposedly confidential.

            “The last one. It just doesn’t fit the pattern.”

            “It doesn’t?”

            “No. Before it looked like, drugs but why would the whole community centre including a bunch of 12 year old kids be taking drugs? This, it’s too big, too random. And the location? All the others have been in Beacon Hills, this was two towns over. It just doesn’t fit.”

            Stiles looked at the papers. It didn’t fit. Even knowing what it was all about, that last one just didn’t fit. The only werewolf there was Jackson. Unless there was another pack but Derek would have known, or Angela. Getting the final confirmation that it was Jackson only a few days after they’d first begun to suspect him was all so… neat. Too neat.

            Stiles flicked through a pile of photographs. There were people in business suits standing around and congratulating each other.

            “Event photographer from the Mears lunch,” said his father. “We’re cross checking across all incidents, trying to find a common link.”

            Sound plan, thought Stiles as he picked up a picture where Jackson smiled and shook hands with the boss of the company.  There it was confirmation in black and white. His dad snatched the photo out of his hand.

            “That’s evidence. You shouldn’t be looking at that.”

            “Then why do you bring your work home?” Stiles asked with an edge to his voice.

            His Dad shook his head. Stiles went back to eating his dinner in sullen silence when he looked down and saw it and suddenly it all made sense.

            He looked away, unwilling to draw his Dad’s attention and finished his meal as quickly as he could. Still half-finished, he swept the dinner plate off the table and went to put his dishes away.

            “Stiles, what the hell is wrong with you?” his Dad.

            “I don’t know what you mean,” said Stiles.

            “You haven’t left a meal unfinished since you were five. I know you’re pissed off that I won’t let you out but there’s more to it than that isn’t there?”

            He could ask now. Just say it. Ask why his father couldn’t accept that he was in love with Derek. Had he ever said he was in love with Derek to his Dad? They’d told him they were dating and their affection must have been obvious when he was in the hospital. No, that shouldn’t be important. In love or just screwing, his father should at least be willing to accept that his son was dating another man.

            “Everything’s fine Dad. I’m just frustrated.”

            “I know son. I’m sorry. I just want to keep you safe and if that means I have to keep you chained up in the basement I will.”

            “I know Dad. I know.”

            Stiles wanted to go over there and put a hand on his father’s shoulder, or embrace him or something to show that their relationship wasn’t completely broken. Instead he went upstairs without another word.

            In the safety of his room he looked down at the photograph he’d slid off of the table along with his plate. He couldn’t have his father seeing this. If he was right he needed to deal with this himself.

            Stiles grabbed his phone and hit redial. Derek didn’t pick up straight away. Stiles hoped that he wasn’t too late.

            “What is it honey?” asked Derek “Me and Scott were just about to pick up Jackson.”

            He sounded light on the other end of the phone, not dark as he was before leaping in for the kill. Jackson was standing there with them and could probably overhear everything he was saying.

            “Looks like I’m not going to be able to make it over tonight.”

            “Oh?” asked Derek sounding genuinely concerned. “Your Dad? Do you want me to come to you?”

            “No. I messed something up with my homework. Got the wrong end of the stick and ended up researching completely the wrong person. Have to start again from scratch. Could be an all-nighter.”

            “Okay. I understand. Don’t work yourself too hard.”

            They said good-bye and hung up the phone. He could tell from the way Derek’s voice rose and fell on certain words that his meaning was clear.

            Stiles looked again at the photo. It was a normal shot of any kind of work party: a group of people sitting at a table saying cheese and holding up their wine to the camera. That wasn’t what concerned him. What concerned him was the waitress in the background. The painfully familiar waitress.

            It all made sense now, why the last one didn’t fit. It wasn’t the results that mattered. It was about making Jackson look guilty, throwing the scent off the real perpetrator. A smart ploy by a smart girl.

            Lydia had always been the clever one. 


	23. Three Times a Lady

            “Lydia’s finger prints are a match to the ones we found on the vial at the Vegas night,” said Angela. “We found our man. Metaphorically speaking.”

            Stiles slumped down on his aunt’s couch nest to his boyfriend. When had it started being horrific to be right all the time? He was beginning to see why his Dad and aunt drank so much. Derek seemed to sense his grievance. He cupped Stiles chin and ran a thumb along the ridge of his lips. Stiles leant in closer to his chest.

            “What do we do now?” Derek asked so that Stiles didn’t have to.

            “We capture her,” said Angela. “She might not even know that’s she’s doing half these things, she has a history of strange behaviour and amnesia, but we might be able to get something useful out of her. Gaps in her memory, things that don’t make sense, dreams she thinks are meaningless.”

            “You’re going to torture her?” Stiles asked.

            “No. We’re going to question her,” said Angela. “No splinters in fingernails or waterboarding required. Jesus, what kind of person do you think I am?”

            The kind who wouldn’t hesitate to torture, beat and bludgeon anyone if it was to get the answer that would save lives.

            “This isn’t like her, this isn’t Lydia,” said Stiles. “Something’s wrong. I didn’t think much of it at first but she’s not been right for like a month. I figured it was the whole PTSD thing, all the teachers did when her grades started slipping. Admittedly this brought her GPA down from a 5.0 to 4.8 but she never hangs out with us anymore. She says she’s studying but her grades aren’t getting any better.”

            “ _In two worlds will they walk yet set no foot in either_ ,” said Angela. “She’s too far into the supernatural world to ever be at ease in the normal world and her immunity means that she’ll never fully be a part of it. She’ll forever be caught between the two.”

            Angela looked Stiles square in the eye. She had a habit of doing that before telling him something that he really didn’t want to have to listen to.

            “Stiles. You have to prepare yourself. We’ll try to find out why she’s doing this but if we can’t it is our duty to neutralize the threat.”

            “Neutralize? God what are you? A Women in Black.”

            “No. I’m a Woman in White and you are a Man in White. Not a boy, a man. We are the protectors, we are the ones that keep this shit from spilling over into the world of picket fences and soccer practice. When there is a threat we take out that threat and sometimes people get hurt. This isn’t Queen Lydia, school socialite and your friend we’re talking about. This is a cold hearted killer. Maybe we can’t find out why Lydia’s doing this and stop it. Maybe we do but she’s just been pushed too far and her minds cracked. We could have to lock her up and throw away the key.” Angela’s words were getting increasingly melancholy. “Maybe she’s too far gone and I have to be the Woman in Red and end it.”

            Sitting in the bottom of Stiles closet was a white box with a red leather coat sat inside it. He remembered the way that he’d felt when he’d touched it. Like he was dead inside.

            “Angie, what’s the red coat for?”

            Before Angela could answer the door buzzed and she swiftly got up to answer it. Stiles could tell whatever it was she was talking about she didn’t want to discuss it any further with him right now. The door was just a convenient distraction.

            “Hey, come on in. The nephews are here, strategizing and so on.”

            It was no surprise when Peter walked in to the room. He always just seemed to be _there_ these days, especially where Angela was concerned. Stiles couldn’t work out their relationship and to be frank he had no desire to.

            “Don’t you usually do this sort of thing at our house?” he asked.

            “Yes,” said Angela. “But you will notice that my house is not currently a construction site. Note the ceiling, walls, doors with locks.”

            Peter raised an eyebrow at his nephew and his lover on the sofa, casting an eye at the books spread out over the coffee table.

            “Well isn’t this a cozy little family reunion. I feel like I’m back in the good old days, the Weiss and the Hales side by side.”

            Angela pushed him through the doorway and onto the sofa before disappearing into the kitchen with promises of food. Stiles started to pack away the work they’d been doing, unable to look at it anymore. Angela wasn’t the only one glad of a distraction.

            He and Peter were getting on much better than they used to be. There were certainly less threats to bite his throat out but when your boyfriend’s uncle can hear everything that the two of you get up to, even when locked away in the privacy of your bedroom, it was bound to put a strain on your relationship. Stiles brushed his lips against Derek’s head and then followed his Aunt into the kitchen.

            She raised her own eyebrow at Stiles, the mirror of Peter’s. Did Peter teach her his smarm, or did she teach him hers? Stiles just shook his head looking back over his shoulder to where nephew and uncle were talking about nothing in particular.

            The phone in his pocket went off. He checked the screen: it was his Dad. Stiles frowned and put the phone on silent until he gave up.

            “He’s just worried about you,” Angela said. “You should at least keep him updated. He’ll only end up phoning me and I’ll have to tell him that you’re planning on running around after someone who put a couple of dozen people in the hospital already…”

            “Don’t,” said Stiles grabbing the bowl of chips his aunt had just poured out. “We’re already barely talking as it is?”

            “He thinks people are being poisoned all over the shop and he doesn’t want to lose his son like he lost his wife.”

            “It’s not that!” said Stiles. “It’s just that… I told him about me and Derek. Well, actually Derek did.”

            “Ooo,” said Angela. “I can see why that might lead to not talking.”

            “But that’s just the thing! He didn’t believe me, at least he said he didn’t. When we were at the hospital it was like he didn’t even see how much Derek cared or when he held my hand. It was like he was trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. I can deal with him shouting at me or threatening to arrest Derek or even shooting him but I just… I wasn’t expecting him to ignore it completely. It’s like he doesn’t care. Derek is the most important thing in my life except from my Dad. I don’t know what to do if I can’t have both of them.”

            “Oh no.”

            Stiles looked at Angela. Her eyes were wide with that sudden realisation. Stiles rounded on her accusingly.

            “Angela. What did you do?”

            “Um, well, here’s the thing. No big deal but, uh, you remember when that thing with Jackson went down and you did the whole controlling, black eye dealy on your Dad to get him to do whatever I told him to?”

            “Get to the part where you tell me what you did to my Dad!”

            Angela swallowed and let out a little laugh.

            “Well, I thought he might be getting a little too close to the truth, what with Jackson and the animal attacks, and he might start making links. If your Dad, the Sheriff, found out about all of this before we were ready I thought it might cause problems so I might have, you know, done a little bit of manipulation so that he wouldn’t make certain connections. Like the fact there are more disturbances at full moons and animal attacks with wolf hair left right and centre.”

            Stiles stared at his aunt. What the hell had she done?

            “You brain washed my Dad?”

            “Not brainwashed,” she said holding out a finger in defence, as if semantics would make everything better. “I just wanted to make sure he didn’t find out anything before we were ready. I mean, come on. He’s supposed to work this shit out for a living, you didn’t think it was odd he had no clue anything was even weird?”

            “What does any of that have to do with me and Derek?”

            “Okay, on that one I had a look ahead when I knew you two were getting back together and that your Dad was going to walk in and see clothes all over the place and put two and two together and that really would have been bad. So I took out the bit where he thinks to try and do the math, so he just accepts it. I thought it would be prudent.”

            Too many people had an unhealthy interest in Stiles’ love life. He buried his head in his hands. He carried enough guilt over bending his own father’s will to his own, even if it had been an emergency. Now he found out that Angela had bent it even further and he felt sickened.

            “I can’t believe this! So my Dad is never going to believe us? As long as I’m with Derek my Dad’s entire consciousness will alter to ignore the fact that we’re dating?”

            “No. What I did only stops him making connections. If he’s given something incontrovertible, he’ll have to believe it.”

            “Incontr- We told him everything! Explicitly told him, using words and everything and he still didn’t believe us. What are we supposed to do?”

            Angela shrugged. “Prove it to him.”

            “Prove it? How are we supposed to prove it? Have sex on the dinner table and be like ‘hey Dad, how’s it going? Pancakes?’”

            Derek’s head popped around the door of the kitchen looking slightly concerned.

            “Why am I having sex with your Dad while making pancakes?” he asked.

            Stiles waved his arm at his aunt.

            “Ask her! Oh my god. There are times I think ‘I have an aunt, family, isn’t that awesome’ and then you go pull some crap like this and I remember why I disliked you for so long.”

            “I do try,” said Angela blithely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff isn't a total douch nozzle! Huzzah!


	24. Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Stiles go out on a 'date' but there are darker motives at play.

            “Okay. What’s up Stiles? I know we haven’t really hung out like this in a while, just the two of us but you are being really freaking weird right now.”

            Lydia looked at him with such concern. She really cared. The second that he’d asked if she wanted to hang out that evening she’d jumped at the chance. A break from her ‘studying’. They’d gone for ice cream because their ‘dates’ always seemed best when they pretended they were twelve. She’d talked and talked and up until now he’d managed to get away with monosyllabic answers and grunts as he tried not to think about the real reason he’d asked her here.

            “I guess it must be Derek rubbing off on me,” said Stiles spooning in another mouthful of sundae into his mouth. “I’ve got the whole lurking thing down already.”

            “Stiles, as much as I love you and Diles as the new destined forever couple of this group, I really have no need to know who is rubbing off on who.”

            Lydia telling him she loved him sent a dart straight through his heart. How he’d longed to hear those words! Now he had they were like poison, seeping in through his heart.

            “Diles?” he asked.

            “Derek and Stiles. Diles.”

            “You do know how stupid that sounds?”

            “Well what else am I supposed to call you two?”

            “You could always try, I dunno, Derek and Stiles?”

            “Boring!” she chimed.

            He laughed.

            “I’m so sorry my amazing, fantastic, earth shattering, three times in one night love life bores you.”

            “Stop talking now or I swear to God I will tell you every detail of what Jackson does in bed.”

            “Go ahead. I’d love to have some dirt to dish on that bastard.”

            “Eugh, fine. I’ll tell you everything that Allison’s told me about her and Scott’s love life. How about that?”

            “Oh god, I give in.”

            They both started to laugh before Lydia looked up at the clock on the wall.

            “What time did you say the film started?”

            Reality hit him like a shock of air. For a moment, a brief moment, he’d managed to forget. She’d taken him away from it and they’d just been Stiles and Lydia. In a few minutes time all that would end. No matter what happened after that moment they would never be like this again, two friends making each other laugh with inane banter.

            “You’re right. Don’t want to miss the previews,” he said trying to sound like his heart wasn’t breaking.

            They left the diner and started to walk down towards the cinema. Stiles gently took her hand and led her sideways down an alley.

            “It’s a short cut,” he said.

            “Really?” she said incredulously but followed him anyway. “You know if you want to have your way with me you just need to ask, no need to lead me down dark alleys. I promise I won’t tell Derek if you don’t tell Jackson.”

            She laughed. Stiles managed a weak smile. He could feel Derek close by. He always could these days.

            “Tempting but Derek would be able to smell it the second we walked in. Besides, this fine piece of ass is well and truly taken.”

            “You really love him don’t you?”

            Despite himself Stiles managed a real smile. “We love each other. I’d do anything for him.”

            Derek appeared behind Lydia and wrapped his arms around her. She struggled and pulled at the material Derek held over her mouth for a second before her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp in his arms.

            Stiles would do anything for Derek and Derek would do anything for Stiles.

 

*****

 

            Lydia’s head lolled forward. Groggily she tried to lift her arms to rub her head only to find them bound to the chair she sat in. The tiny aborted motion made Stiles feel sick. He knew what that felt like, knew the shock of terror that cut through the fog like a sabre.

            Derek’s hand squeezed at his shoulder. Stiles reached up to cover it with his own, needing that small point of contact, an anchor to tie him in the here and now.

            Lydia shook her head and looked at the ropes on her hands. She was rapidly coming to her senses, her eyes darting back and forth across the room, seeing only the brightly lit circle she sat in. Only when she tried to call out did she realise there was a gag in her mouth. She tried to rock the chair but Stiles knew better than to let his own escape trick work against him. They’d bolted it to the floor.

            Her eyes found them standing in the shadows. She tried to shuffle away, unable to see their faces. Stiles couldn’t stand it anymore. He stepped forward into the light. She stopped struggling when she saw him and tried reach out towards them. She thought he was there to rescue her.

            Crouching down beside her chair Stiles slid the gag out of her mouth.

            “Stiles! Thank god, what happened. Get me out of here.”

            Stiles looked at her sadly and shook his head.

            “I can’t Lydia.”

            She fixed him with a wide eyed shock.

            “Some madman has me tied to a chair and you’re just standing there? What the hell is wrong with you?”

            Her voice trailed off as she scanned across to where Derek was stepping into the light.

            “Don’t get too close,” he warned. “We don’t know what kind of mojo she’s working.”

            Stiles stood up straight and took a step back. He felt the warmth of Derek’s hand press into the small of his back but it only heightened how cold the rest of the room was.

            “What are you talking about?” she looked at them. Stiles could see the truth dawning on her. “Oh my god. This is you. You did this to me.”

            Stiles cast his eyes to the floor and turned his head away.

            “One of you better tell me what the hell is going on right now or I swear to God…”

            “Why were you at the Mears lunch?” Stiles asked quietly. Maybe, just maybe there was a chance there was an explanation for all this. Perhaps it could still all be a mistake.

            “What are you talking about? What the hell even is a Mears lunch?” She wasn’t scared. She was angry. Like this was a great injustice and they better untie her _right now_ or she’d make their lives hell.

            “The business lunch where everyone got poisoned. You were there.”

            “No I wasn’t, Jackson was. I was at the library, studying. I go there every day.”

            She believed it. Truly believed it. Either that or she was a fantastic actress as well as being a genius. Whatever she was doing, she really had no idea what was happening to her. Stiles pulled the photograph out of his pocket and held it out to her.

            “This was taken by one of the guests there,” he said. “The waitress in the back. Are you going to tell me my Mom isn’t the only one with a long lost twin sister?”

            Lydia squinted at the picture. Her eyes looked glazed and she scrunched them up as if she were in pain. They were showing her the facts but her brain wasn’t allowing her to comprehend them.

            “I… I… That’s not me. It can’t be.”

            “Lydia. It is you.”

            “You’re lying,” she said quietly. “This is just another one of your jokes I don’t get right? You photo-shopped that and now you’re putting me through some sort of test like Allison and her Dad.”

            Stiles tried to comfort her but he couldn’t find the words.

            “This is real,” said Derek softly. She jerked away from him, as if only just realising he was there. “I wish it wasn’t but it is. We’re going to help you Lydia. We want to find out why you’re doing this but we need you to help us. Think back to the other day when the community centre got hit. That night where were you?”

            “I told you,” she said. She was fighting against them but tears were filling her eyes. “I was at the library, studying.”

            “Studying what?” asked Derek.

            “History, for the test yesterday.”

            “How did you do on the test?”

            “What?”

            “How did it go? Spend all evening studying, it must have been easy.”

            “It… I…”

            “You tanked it didn’t you?”

            “I have post-traumatic stress disorder!” she yelled. “Of course I’m struggling. Do you really think kidnapping me and duct tapping me to a chair is going to help me any?”

            “Derek that’s enough,” Stiles shouted at him. Derek shook his head slightly at him, imploring him with his eyes.

            “Tell me where you sat in the library,” Derek asked a little more calmly.

            “I sat by the… by the history books… I think…” Lydia shook her head again.

            “Focus on the details. Try to remember the details. Break through the story it your head to the truth.”

            “I was by the history books. I was picking out a book on… the civil war but we were studying the Cold War and… I…”

            She screamed, scrunching her body into as much of a ball as she could manage. Stiles took a step back, Derek suddenly in front of him with his claws and teeth out. Suddenly Lydia went limp, her head lolling forwards before slowly beginning to rise, face calm and eyes open. Someone else stared out of them.


	25. Here, There, Everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek question 'Lydia'.

            “So. You finally got me,” Lydia said in a voice that was her own but not hers at all.

            “Lydia?” asked Stiles.

            “Now that is a complicated question. She’s here, she’s there, she’s everywhere.”

            Her eyes were hooded. Even though the face was Lydia’s it wasn’t right. She was wearing it all wrong.

            “I knew it couldn’t be her,” said Stiles.

            “And right you are, little man,” said the thing. “She has been so very, very useful. Who would suspect poor little broken Lydia? Best friend and confidant to a member of the White Order. Hiding in plain sight. So elegant. Thank you so very much Stiles. You nearly took care of Jackson for me as well. That really would have been great. You worked it out though. You always seem to get your man in the end. Or your woman.”

            “Get out,” said Stiles.

            “I would love to. Just cut me loose and I’ll be-”

            “Of her. Get out of her.”

            She tutted at him. “Now, now. You had your chance to get into this one. You blew it. Or rather, you didn’t . It really was very sweet Derek, you should have seen the two of them. So deeply in love. Shame it wasn’t with each other. That would have really helped me out. Enthralled lover rather than trusted friend.”

            Derek’s fangs were out, grabbing onto Lydia’s jacket and trying to pull her out of the chair.

            “Who are you?”

            The thing just laughed in his face.

            “Go on. Do what you usually do. Punch it in the face and pull its arms off, go on. Do it!”

            Lydia’s face went to one side, giving Derek a free swing.

            “You know you want to. You’ve wanted to mess up her pretty little face since before you and Little Red were even fucking. Go ahead. I’ll make sure she’s back to feel it.”

            “Let her go,” Stiles urged gently.

            Derek growled before letting her go again. There were great tears down the front of her top. She was laughing again, not manically but a contented chuckle. She rolled her eyes at the pair of them and sighed.

            “Oh well. It looks like I’m going to have no fun with either of you. I have things to be doing anyway. You might have my queen backed into a corner but let’s see how many pawns you’re willing to sacrifice to keep her. Let her go or the blood is on your hands.”

            “She’s not going anywhere,” said Stiles.

            “Suit yourself,” said the thing. “It’s been nice to talk to you but I have really got to be going. You all have a nice day.”

            Lydia’s body convulsed before her head lolled forward again and her breathing slowed as if she were sleeping.

            Stiles looked at her in shock.  

            “What just happened?”

            “I think we just talked to whatever’s controlling Lydia.”

            “Controlling? Like with the kanima?”

            “No. Like she was possessed.” Derek stood forward and lifted up Lydia’s head, checking that she was okay. “She’s out cold again. I don’t know when she’ll wake up.”

            Stiles ran his fingers through his hair and gripped on. Hard. He was standing in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere with a possessed friend who had no idea what was going on, someone who once professed to love her was now holding her hostage.

            It was her. There was no way of avoiding that now. Something might be making her do it but it was definitely her hands pouring poison into children’s water supplies.

            Stiles let his mind go free and the Web shimmered into view. Usually Lydia was a swirling mass of connections to all the people in her little world, all taught as she played the people around her like puppets. They were gone replaced by one huge chain of gold, the kind that connected Derek to his betas but this one was woven through with tendrils of living blackness. It shimmered like an oil slick; beautiful, terrible and dark. The chain looked thick and binding, wrapped around her body, but it was faint as well. The connection must have been stretched out over a long distance. Wherever the puppet master pulled the strings it was far away from here.

            “What am I doing? Why am I doing this? I don’t know what I’m doing. We should have made Angela come in on this one. She’d know what was going on. She’d know what to do.”

            “Shh,” Derek soothed, taking Stiles in his arms. He wrapped him up tightly so that Stiles couldn’t flail, only cling close to him. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

            “It’s not okay though is it?” said Stiles. “Not at all.”

 

*****

 

            Sometime later Stiles was standing outside by himself. He was only wearing a t-shirt despite the cold night air. It was good to feel the cold. It made him feel alive. Since his clairvoyance had left him, he’d felt like a part of him was physically missing. It wasn’t just mourning for his power, it was like part of his identity had gone with it.

            A pair of strong arms encircled his waist from behind and he felt the stubble of Derek’s chin dig into his neck. He reached up and scrunched his fingers into Derek’s hair.

            “Why her?” Stiles asked. “Why Lydia? Sure she can be a bit of a bitch sometimes but she doesn’t deserve this.”

            “No one does,” Derek said before kissing him gently just below his ear. “No one deserves to spend the night in hospital from wolf’s bane poison either.”

            “It’s not her fault,” Stiles snapped, trying to break away but Derek wouldn’t let him.

            “I know that,” Derek soothed. “I’m just saying we can’t let her go free. I’ll watch her tonight and call your aunt. She can get some of her guys to look after her until we work out what’s going on.”

            Stiles nodded. “It’s just like with Jackson and the kanima. We work out who’s in control of her and them we take them out and everything’s fine.”

            “Exactly.”

            “Except it’s not like that at all,” he said, both of them slumping down to the floor. “Jackson changed. The kanima was a monster, everything about it was monstrous. But this is Lydia. She still looks the same, sounds the same, even when someone else is speaking through her. Hell, she even told us she’d spike the drinks if it were her.”

            Derek held him close to his chest again as Stiles began to break down again. He was beginning to realise what the inevitable outcome of this situation was going to be.

            “What if we have to-”

            “It won’t come to that,” Derek said pre-empting him. “She has an out. It’s not her. It’s someone, some _thing_ making her do this. We’ll get your secret society friends onto this. We’ll work this out and we’ll get the person who is truly responsible. We will finish this and we will finish it right. Before anyone else gets hurt. Together.”

            Stiles tried to stop himself from asking but he couldn’t. “You’d just kill her wouldn’t you? Just kill her and be done with it, no more problem to worry about.”

            He could feel Derek stiffen. “You’re right,” he said. “A year ago I would have killed her without question but now I wouldn’t. Because of you. Not because she’s your friend or because you have history or that you just plain don’t want to but because it’s not the right thing to do. It’s not her fault we’re in this mess, it’s the bastard controlling her. She’s the innocent pawn in all this. If there’s another way then finding it is the only right thing to do. You make me want to do the right thing.”

            Stiles clung closer to Derek. They’d do anything for each other but sometimes it was the not doing something that was hardest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that everyone is trying to work out what's going on in the comment. The only problem is I keep reading things and going 'man, I wish I'd thought of that!'.


	26. Tick, tock, tick, tock...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is at school the night after capturing Lydia but not everything is going according to plan

            Stiles felt like crap as he drove into school the next morning. Derek had forced him to go home, leaving the werewolf to watch over Lydia alone. Not that Stiles had been much help when he had been there. It’s difficult to guard someone when you can’t bring yourself to look at them. Derek had reminded Stiles it was a school night, something he never did unless he had to because it put a great big flashing ‘UNDERAGE’ sign over their relationship. It hadn’t made much difference though; he’d barely got any sleep. When he did nod off he woke in a sweat, plagued with visions of Lydia lying dead and his hands covered in blood. He had to remind himself that he couldn’t see the future right now. They were just nightmares.

            “Whoa. Derek keeping you up all night?” said Scott, before realising what he’d just said and pulling a face. “Don’t answer that.”

            “Don’t worry,” said Stiles as he pulled his books out of his locker. “Nothing happened last night that you need to block mental images over.”

            Only the kidnapping of your girlfriend’s best friend and her subsequent interrogation. Stiles yearned to tell Scott but knew he couldn’t. He knew in his soul that Scott wouldn’t betray him. Scott couldn’t let all those people get hurt and do nothing but they didn’t know what they were dealing with. There was no rule anywhere to state that Lydia was the only one being controlled. Lydia had known they were investigating Jackson and now a bus full of kids were in intensive care. He couldn’t risk the same happening if whoever it was had gotten to anyone else, including Scott. With a lurch Stiles realised that even Derek might be under a spell. He refused to believe that though. He’d know.

            “Seriously dude,” said Scott, suddenly concerned. “You alright there? You zoned out on me there.”

            “Sorry,” said Stiles. “Didn’t sleep much last night. Must have been the lack of exuberant, exotic, gymnastic sex I’m now so used to,” he added, unable to resist the look of horror on Scott’s face.

            Allison appeared over Scott’s shoulder and stroked his arm in greeting, looking very distracted.

            “Hey Stiles,” said Allison, gaze scanning the corridor. “Have you seen Lydia? I was supposed to give her a ride in this morning but her parents said she was at your house last night.”

            Scott’s eyes went wide. Sleepless Stiles, Lydia spending the night, no Derek. It was obvious what conclusions he might be drawing. It actually made Stiles a little happy that Scott looked appalled at the notion he was cheating on Derek rather than happy he was seeing someone more ‘suitable’. An affair was a much more likely explanation, Stiles realised, than the fact that he’d taken Lydia hostage to stop her trying to kill the whole town and then faked a text to her parents saying that she would be staying at his.

            “Yeah, she stayed in the spare room last night. Her Mom was going nuts over some work thing apparently, needed the calm and tranquillity that is the haven of Casa de Stilinski.” Scott actually snorted at that one. “She left early this morning though. Something about an errand. She’s probably just running late.”

            “Great,” said Allison rubbing her fingers against her forehead. “Her grades are already spiralling downwards. What she really needs to do right now is start skipping classes.”

            Stiles was about to stand up for the absent Lydia when he felt his phone vibrate. It was his aunt.

            “Hey Angie, what’s-”

            “She’s gone.”

            “What?” said Stiles, convinced he hadn’t heard right. He turned and walked away from Scott and Allison.

            “I said ‘she’s gone’. Not here. Vanished. Vamoosed. Scarpered. Left the building. Absent-”

            “I don’t need a freaking thesaurus. I understand the concept but how can she just be gone?”

            A slow cold feeling was beginning to unravel itself in the pit of his stomach. There was no way that Derek would let her get past him. Not without a fight.

            “Derek?” was all he could bring himself to ask.

            “Alive. Someone hit him over the head with a monkey wrench or something. I think it must have cracked his skull because he was still out when I came to relieve him. The last thing he remembers was going for a leak just after you left. I only just found him this morning.”

            “Oh my god. Where are you? I need to make sure he’s okay.”

            “Calm down. If he were human then we’d need to worry. Luckily, he’s not. He just needs to sleep it off and he’ll be fine.”

            “Sleep it off! It’s a freaking head injury!”

            Stiles was shouting. People were staring. He ran his fingers through his hair and shrank back into the gap between two rows of lockers. He was going to freak out any second. He wanted to get to Derek. He wanted to make sure he was safe. He wanted to see this cracked skull for himself and determine for himself whether there was anything to worry about or not.

            “I want to talk to him,” he said.

            “I told you, he’s asleep.”

            “Then wake him up! He could have a concussion. You’re not supposed to sleep with a head injury. Trust me, I know. Remember?”

            “Jesus. It was enough work to make him not go running off after you despite the fact he could barely stand. I should have known you’d want to go running off after him. He’s not a fucking human, Stiles! His body needs time and energy to mend itself and that means he needs to not worry about anything except healing for a bit. We, however, a fuck off massive homicidal manic using an innocent young girl to kill every god damn person in the county. So can we stick to what’s important here?”

            Stiles bit down on his lower lip. Hard. She was right, of course she was, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to tell her to shove her ‘what’s important’ into any orifice of her choosing.

            “Right. Right. You’re right.”   

            “We need to work out where she’s gone,” said Angela.

            Stiles eyes scanned the corridor. His face froze when he saw.

            “No need,” said Stiles. “She just walked in the front door.”

            Angela was talking at him down the phone but he wasn’t listening. Lydia was smiling at him and walking over. A bright honest smile, not one of someone who was plotting their revenge.

            “Hey there,” she said kissing him on the cheek. “Sorry I had to run out on you last night. Things to do you know but we should totally do that again soon. I mean it. I miss my dates with you.”

            “Yeah,” said Stiles slowly. She didn’t remember. Not a thing.

            The bell went and everyone began the manic scuffle towards class.

            “Damnit,” she said. “I need to get my books. See you at lunch!”

            She ran down the corridor and turned left, away from her locker. Stiles cast a shifty look at who was watching before following after. He kept sight of her strawberry blonde hair as it wove through the waves of people on their way to class until at last it veered off the main corridor and into a side room. He walked up and read the plaque on the door: _Basement._

His hand was on the handle when he paused. What was he going to do? Go running in all guns blazing, only without any actual guns. Anything could be down there. Unspeakable horrors she was summoning to life. Flying monkeys. Cleaning supplies. For once he needed to think this through before he started. He pulled his phone back out and hit redial.

 

*****

 

            Angela arrived at his classroom twenty minutes later to pull him from his lesson. He filled her in on the details while leading her to the doorway. She regarded it for a long time.

            “We need to get down there,” she said.

            Stiles slowly extended his hand not trusting that a magical curse hadn’t been put on the door. He tried the handle, half expecting it to explode in his hand. Instead, he got nothing.

            “Locked.”

            “Fuck,” said Angela. She looked down the corridor. “Double fuck. I could break down the door but every damn person would hear. We need some sort of distraction, something to hide the sound. You could topple the lockers at the other end of the corridor as I do it, so they’re all looking that way when I’m over here sneaking into the basement, but then they might see that this door is open, so we’d have to-”

            The piercing shrill of the fire alarm bounced down the corridor. Angela swung around to face Stiles, his hand against the fire alert switch.

            “Oops,” he said.

            Angela grinned at him. “You are learning my boy. Hide in the bathroom and then we’ll sneak back when they’ve all gone past.”

            It was a simple plan but it worked. Within two minutes the school was clear.

            “Quick,” he said. “There’s usually a bunch of teachers checking for stragglers.”

            They ran back to the basement door and Angela kicked the lock in with practiced ease. They shut the door tightly behind them, hoping it wasn’t too obviously kicked in and crept down the stairs quietly. Their entrance would have alerted anyone there to their presence but when they got to the bottom it looked like they were the only two people in the room.

            The basement looked like it had once been used as a dumping ground for all the school’s detritus that had since been long forgotten. There was broken sports equipment, ancient desks, old lab equipment, piles of random stuff all over the place. It was a mess but there was one corner of order set aside. It looked like someone had set up the world’s cleanest meth lab.

            “And Bingo was his name-o,” said Angela

            She walked up to the table and began to peruse what it held. Set out carefully were page after page of notes, all written in Lydia’s careful script. She read a few of them, frowning as she went.

            “What does it say?” asked Stiles as he picked his way through the chaos of the room.

            “Nothing good. There’s a pretty extensive lab set up over here and going from these notes it looks like she was trying to perfect the formula of the poison she was cooking up. These are way over my head,” she said leafing through a note book.

            “Now Lydia makes sense. She looks at a bunch of chemicals and they just do whatever she wants.”

            Stiles carried on pulling half-heartedly at some of the bigger objects that had been left to rot here. He hated looking for something when he didn’t know what it was he was supposed to be looking for.

            “The last few pages of this have been torn out,” Angela said. “I think whatever it was they were looking for, she found it.”

            “Well that can only mean good things.”

            “There are details of all the locations that got hit in here, and a few others besides. Perhaps they didn’t pan out, maybe their future hit points.” Angela put the journal into the pocket of her coat and carried on searching the table. “There’s a blueprint of the school over here as well. There are some places marked out. I think this is the basement and there are a few other spots. The auditorium, the sports hall, cafeteria. Gathering points for large numbers of people.”

            “That doesn’t seem foreboding at all,” said Stiles.

            Stiles pushed a cracked ping pong table that was leaning on a stack of desks gently but the wobble it induced caused the whole thing to topple directly onto the table, smashing the carefully set up lab equipment. Angela dove back throwing her arms up and spinning away to avoid being showered with glass.

            “Oops,” he said quietly.

            Angela didn’t say anything. She was staring at the spot the table had been. Stiles turned around to look.

            He immediately wished he hadn’t.

            “Is that a-”

            “Yup. Don’t suppose you know how to defuse a fucking huge bomb do you?”

           

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this fic in its entirety over a month ago. I think you can tell by the last line of this chapter where this is going. Given recent events in Boston and Texas I do realise that this might seem a bit tactless. However this is the story I have written, if it's hard to read I'm sorry.


	27. Boom!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 60... 59... 58...

            “Yup. Don’t suppose you know how to defuse a fucking huge bomb do you?”

            It filled the left hand side of the basement. Barrel after barrel of… something all connected with wire fuse and in the centre a little red glowing dial. One minute and falling.

            “Nope,” said Stiles. “You?”

            “Nope.”

            “Running?”

            “Running.”

            The pair of them turned on their heel and started sprinting. They leapt up the stairs as many as they could take at the time.

            “Where the fuck are we going?” Angela screamed.

            Quickly he extrapolated every conceivable exit route out of the school. All of them seemed to be too long. The bomb had been placed directly in the centre of the school. Clever Lydia.

            “This way,” he shouted and started running again. They hammered down the corridor when they heard someone coming the other way. A fireman. Shit! They must have been called automatically.

            “Ma’am, you should have evacuated the building-”

            “Run, fucking run!” Angela yelled grabbing him by the arm and hauling him after them.

            “What?”

            “Bomb!” They shouted in unison, both already half way down the corridor.

            The man looked confused for a minute then started to run after them. They could hear him shouting down his radio. There were probably a dozen firemen checking the school to make sure there wasn’t a real fire anywhere. If they were here then that would mean the police might be here too and that would mean-

            Stiles skidded to a halt suddenly. His Dad. He needed to check his Dad wasn’t in the building he needed to-

            “Move you cock sucker,” Angela screamed slamming into the back of him.

            As they ran Stiles fumbled for his phone, trying to call his Dad to warn him, but he stumbled and dropped it. He tried to go back for it but Angela was already screaming at him. The fireman was there, pushing him onwards and out of the building while shouting call codes down the radio. It was the same system for police and fireman, surely. His Dad would know. It would be fine.

            All sense of time was gone. He felt like he’d been running for a few seconds but he was already nearly out of the school. He could see the double doors ahead of him. Outside blue lights flashed. Angela slammed into the doors and launched herself out into the sunlight, Stiles close behind.

            He felt the first rumble of the explosion half way down the stairs making him stumble. When the shock wave hit him, it blew him clean off his feet, dumping him on the sidewalk several feet away.

 

*****

 

            At first all there was the sound, a high pitched squeal that pierced high over the silence. He tried to lift himself up but wherever he put his hand was broken glass and rubble. Looking around he could see what had been rows of students ordered for a fire drill had now descended into a hoard of wailing kids, clinging to each other, screaming or running. He noticed a pair of legs running into his field of view; Angela’s.

            Bending down in front of him her lips were moving but he couldn’t hear the words, like they were coming from underwater.

            “I can’t hear you,” he said.

            “I know,” he managed to make out with the help of lip reading.

            She grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. He looked her up and down. Her clothes were torn, and covered with dust. He looked down at himself, he wasn’t faring much better. He noticed his arms were covered in scratches. He looked back, suddenly thinking of the fireman who had been following him. The man was already on his feet, joining in with his colleagues as they prepared to do their job now there was a real emergency.

            Then Stiles saw it. He nearly collapsed again. It was every kid’s dream, right? To see their school blown to smithereens and left as nothing but a smouldering pile of wreckage. Stiles had imagined what it would look like himself during some of his more tedious tests.

            There were no windows left, hell there were barely any walls left. The dust was still thickening the air, he could taste it on every breath, and smoke was beginning to curl up out of the wreckage. That’s all that was left. Wreckage and rubble. The place where he’d laughed with his friends, fought against werewolves and kamina’s, the place he’d first kissed Derek. It was gone. Just gone.

            How many people had snuck off to go make out in the locker room? Or to smoke pot in the store cupboard? How many teachers had been checking the building for them? If anyone had been inside when the bomb went off there’s no way they would have survived. He’d met with death countless times before. But this was different. These were just people going about their life. Innocent bystanders caught in the cross fire.

            “Stiles!” His hearing was beginning to come back but he only heard his Dad’s yell when he was a few feet away.

            “What?” said Stiles over the noise in his head.

            His Dad gripped him close and it was only then that Stiles registered the pain. It was like he’d been thrown against a wall very hard. More like the wall had been thrown at him. His body was covered in cuts and bruises. His Dad was checking them, shoving his son’s head this way and that, constantly talking. Together he and Angela dragged Stiles away, dumb founded by the sight of his school as it burned.

           

*****

 

            Stiles sat in the back of the ambulance, waiting for the paramedics. His hearing was still tinny but he could make out words now. He could hear the crying of a thousand students with nowhere to go and nothing to do but watch their school burn, clueless to why this was happening. The skies were beginning to cloud over. Soon it would start raining. At least that would help quench the flames but the damage was already done. He kept going to check the time on his phone then remembered he’d dropped it in the scramble. He’d had it for less than a week. Everything in his life seemed to keep breaking.

            “Everyone’s saying that Al-Quida’s decided to start bombing schools in boring little towns for no good reason and seeing threats around every corner. Why do they even think it’s a bomb?” said Scott as he waited with him.

            “That’s because it was a bomb,” Stiles answered calmly.

            “You saw?” asked Scott wide eyed. “Do you know who it was? Was it…” He stopped short, conscious of the paramedic who was suddenly taking great interest in their conversation. Stiles was saved from having to come up with something to say by Angela stepping up into the back of the van. Her own cuts were still untended to and the blood ran in rivulets down the side of her face.

            “How’s it going?” Stiles asked.

            “They found someone in the wreckage.” Her usual flat voice seemed even more monotone that usual. Stiles didn’t need to ask if they’d be alright. They weren’t and wouldn’t ever be again. Stiles slumped back against the wall of the ambulance. Angela’s badge flashed at the paramedic.

            “I need a word with the witness,” she announced. The paramedic told her not to be too long as they were ready to go but didn’t put up any fuss. Scott sat there and didn’t move. “I meant alone, Mr McCall.”

            Scott looked at his friend and Stiles nodded for him to go.

            “Get my Dad. He wanted to come to the hospital with me. Like I don’t know my way round the ER by now.”

            Scott nodded and hopped out the back. His Dad had only gone back to work when he’d been absolutely sure that nothing was about to drop off of Stiles and insisted that he had to go with his son to the hospital. School bombing or not, Stiles was his son. Some things were more important.

            Sombrely, Angela sat down on the other end of the gurney. She took a deep breath, readying to speak but Stiles cut in across her.

            “I know,” he said. “I know what you’re going to say.”

            “It’s your call. I’m sorry to do this to you but it is. Beacon Hills is your patch, I’m just here as a guide.”

            “There has to be another way. A holding pen. A place that they can keep her locked up so she can’t hurt anyone. Arkham Asylum for the supernaturally insane.”

            “Yes,” said Angela, “there is, but you’d never get clearance to get her in. The Council will try to find a peaceful solution where they can but she tried to blow up a school. Your school. If you hadn’t pulled the alarm everyone out on that field would be dead right now, including your friends. Fifteen students are missing, four of the fire crew, one person is already confirmed dead. I know this is hard to hear Stiles but you can’t shy away from the facts. Lydia did this. Lydia killed that girl and she will do it again.”

            “I know that! All I’m saying is that we take a bit more time. We just need to work out why she’s doing this, who’s making her do this.”

            “And I hate that as much as you do Stiles but she’s the crux of a prophesy. The people of Beacon Hills are not the only ones in danger. Every day people are getting hurt and killed because we’re Blind. We would have seen this coming from a mile off if we had our Sight. Imagine all the other schools that aren’t getting saved because we can’t do our job right. If you don’t sort this out soon then the Council will step in and put the order on her anyway.”

            Stiles slammed his head into the wall of the ambulance. He screwed his eyes shut.

            “Give me a few days to come up with an alternative. A few days to find out what’s really going on.”

            “I said it was your call Stiles. You want a few extra days then they’re yours but sooner or later the Council is going to start asking me questions and I am in no way about to start lying to them.”

            Angela reached into her pocket and drew the journal she’d found in the basement, handing it to Stiles.

            “I hope you find something. I really do.”       

            “The end of the week,” he resolved. “The end of the week to come up with what the hell is really going on here.”

            “And if you haven’t?”

            “Then I do it. No one else. Me. I’ll kill Lydia.”

 


	28. Death by a Thousand Cuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles seeks out Derek after the explosion.

            Stiles stared at the house, letting the rain soak him through to the skin until he could feel it seeping past even that and into his flesh and bone. He was numb, unfeeling to the cold even though he knew he was shivering.

            He broke suddenly. Surging forward, he leapt towards the building and up the steps. He didn’t bother calling, didn’t bother yelling to see who else was home. He just ran upstairs and stormed into the bedroom.

            Derek blinked back the sleepiness. Recovering from an injury always made him groggy. He took a moment to see who was standing there, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

            “Stiles? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you still be in school?”

            As Derek checked his watch Stiles crossed the room and hauled him out of bed, slamming their lips together in fire and fury. He needed to feel Derek’s heat, his vitality. He needed to be with the one constant in his life, the one thing he could always rely on to be there and love him. Stiles grabbed and he took and he didn’t care. Derek took a step back, holding him at arm’s length.

            “Okay, what the hell?”

            Stiles’ teeth were chattering. He could barely get the words out.

            “Please,” he uttered over and over. “Please. I need… Please.”

            He tried to close the gap again. He pulled at Derek’s tank top, flinging his own sodden shirt to the ground, trying to cling on but Derek kept pushing him away.

            “Stiles, Stiles. Stop it. I’m not going to do this when you’re like this. Tell me what the hell is wrong.”

            “I ca- I ca-” Stiles stuttered. Hands still pulling half-heartedly at Derek’s belt but the wolf gripped his wrists and stopped him.

            “Just talk to me, man.” Derek ran his fingers through Stiles hair, looking at his face closely for the first time. “What the hell? You’re covered in bruises. What happened to you? This is my fault, isn’t it? I knew I should have found you, I knew they’d come after you.”

            The concern nearly broke Stiles all over again but he managed to claw himself back enough that he could get the words out straight. He pulled himself in close, resting his face against Derek’s as he clung onto his hair way too hard.

            “Please Derek. I need this, I just need this. I’ll explain everything afterwards I promise, just give me this. I need to feel something else. I need to feel you.”

            He could see the concern in Derek’s eyes but the man didn’t resist when Stiles closed their mouths against each other and let his tongue drift across his teeth and lips. Stiles gripped in tight closing their two bodies together, pressing cold wet fabric onto himself. He felt Derek’s hands, warm against his frigid skin, sliding up underneath his wet t-shirt and peeling it off of him. The arms around Stiles were warm but it was taking time for their heat to sink in. Derek held him close against his body while they slowly kissed, taking their time with each other’s mouths.

            Derek lifted Stiles up and carried him to the bed, looking him in the eye with a deep love that Stiles knew was returned. He laid him down like he was some broken thing he was worried about damaging even more. Naked, Derek laid down beside him, pulling his covers across to cover them both. Stiles’ skin felt clammy and damp still but Derek wrapped the two of them together and slowly made out with him, trying to give his heat and life over to the wreck in his arms.

            When he could begin to feel himself again, Stiles pushed up against his boyfriend, letting his hardness be felt against Derek’s. He took the hint and began to reciprocate unable to stop the gasps of pleasure that shook him when Stiles moved in that perfect way. A slow grind here, a long kiss there, fingers dragged sensuously down muscles. As Derek began to lose himself in ecstasy, Stiles’ haze of misery began to give way to the touch of the man beside him.

            They hadn’t spoken a word since Derek silently gave into Stiles’ request. There was no need to talk, not right now. The time for that would come later. Now was about being there with each other. Communicating with their flesh and bone, linking their bodies for that instant. Stiles hunger for Derek, that ever present yearning, began to eat away at his heart ache. He moved in unison with his lover, blanking out everything from his awareness but the feel of their skin as it collided.

            Soon he was on his back as Derek furrowed inside of him. Stiles clawed his nails into Derek’s back, arching to help Derek go deeper until each thrust found that sweet spot. He whimpered quietly but the sensation was no less intense. Derek kissed his neck, his own body alive with the person beneath him. When he came it wasn’t with his usual guttural whelp but with a non-descript exhale against Stiles’ neck. He kissed Stiles deeply as he withdrew and laid down beside him. Derek reached down his hand to help Stiles find his own ending, their fingers twining around his erection until he came.

            Stiles closed his eyes as he rode through the waves of sensation, revelling in the clear moment of oblivion. He sighed and opened them again, continuing to stare up at the ceiling. He could feel Derek’s eyes upon him, waiting for an explanation. Instead of meeting his gaze Stiles sat up, bunching the sheets about his waist and swung his legs off of the side of the bed. He sat there, aware of Derek’s fingers tracing patterns on the small of his back. From the delicacy of them, he was tracing the contours of his bruising.

            It was a long time before Stiles said anything. He was getting cold again. Goosebumps had plagued his skin and faded when he finally answered the questions Derek patiently asked with his silence.

            “She blew up the school,” he said.

            “What?” said Derek.

            “It’s just gone. She blew it up. Ka-blamo. Poof.”

            “She? Lydia? Lydia blew up the school? Is that where these bruises came from?” said Derek, his voice suddenly low again.

            “I found the bomb before it blew. Managed to get out the building but I was still pretty close when it blew. It’s all just superficial though: cuts and bruises. I got most people outside but there were still- they’d pulled five bodies out last I heard and there are a dozen or more still unaccounted for. I knew one of them. Jenny Mallory. She was in my algebra class, clever as hell but smoked more weed than Bob Marley.”

            Derek had moved up to sit behind him. He was draped around Stiles, holding on to him close. Stiles leaned into it limply.

            “What about the others?”

            Derek meant the pack, obviously. There were no others to Derek except his pack and various hangers on. That was all that mattered to him in this world, since everything else had been taken from him.

            “They’re all okay. A little shaken but they’ll live.”

            Unlike Jenny, he thought. She’d been a massive stoner but it was just a phase. She’d realise she had to clean up her act, get amazing test scores and then go to some Ivy league college and become president of the world, except none of that could happen now. Because she was dead. Lydia had killed her.

            “The Council has ruled,” Stiles said flatly. “I have until Sunday to come up with an alternative or else Lydia… Lydia pays for what she’s done.”

            Derek didn’t question this, didn’t shout that it wasn’t her fault, didn’t argue try to argue a way out of it.

            “Did the council say that,” asked Derek, “or you?”

            Stiles swallowed heard, trying to make himself dead inside like Angela and failing. His entire body felt stiff with grief as he spoke.

            “I am the council,” he said. “That makes me judge, jury and executioner.”

            He managed to get the words out. Then he lost it. His face screwed up and he let the sobs wrack him. Derek held him tightly, clinging on to keep him close as Stiles let the full horror of what that meant wash over him.

            He was strong. He could deal with all this. With being beaten and blown up, kidnapped and cut to pieces. He took it all. He was strong, stronger than he’d ever been before but there is only so much a person can take. Only so many times you can say you’re fine before the cuts go too deep. Death by a thousand cuts, Angela had said. He should have listened.

            “You’ll find a way,” said Derek. “I know you will. You always do. It’s kind of your thing.”

            “We found this,” said Stiles holding up the journal Angela had found. “Explained everything about what she was doing, chemical formulas, the works. I was reading it at the hospital, praying, _praying_ that there would be some clue to who was making her do this. Do you know what I found? The perfect opportunity to end her life. There’s a list of places, times, dates. The next one is by the lake, the one that feeds into the city’s main water supply. She’s going to spike it. She’s found the perfect formula for whatever she’s cooked up and now she’s going to poison the whole town. I have to stop her. It’s out in the middle of nowhere, no one will be up there this time of year and I know she’s planning on doing it on Sunday afternoon, six in the afternoon. All I have to do is go there, wait for her and then…”

            “I’ll do it,” said Derek firmly. “You shouldn’t have to. I was willing to do it before when we thought she was the kanima. It’ll  be easier for me.”

            “No!” shouted Stiles standing up off the end of the bed. “You don’t get it. I have to be the one it do this _because_ it’s hard. Killing someone shouldn't be easy. The second it becomes easy is the second you stop being human.”

            Angela had told him that once. He held on to it like a mantra. It seemed everyone around him seemed to look at killing like it was the first thing to be done when it should be a last resort. And here he was, out of ideas. Forced to kill.

            “I’m not human,” Derek said, still curled up on the bed. “I know you like to think I am, you keep telling me I am but I'm not. My kind, we live every day knowing another werewolf or a hunter might come along and make it our last. It's kill or be killed. It's not as hard for us to kill, physically or mentally. But it's not easy. It's never easy. I promise you.”

            Stiles couldn’t face him. He couldn’t look him in the eye. He thought he was helping, he didn’t know he was making everything so much harder.

            “When you tried to kill her before,” Stiles said slowly, “you and Isaac and Erica, you treated it like it was nothing, like it was a game, but it isn't. It's taking someone's life. Taking Lydia's life. This is the girl I held in my arms as she cried because she was scared that her whole life was going to get yanked away from her again and I was the only person in the world she trusted. The girl I loved for ten years. The girl who I thought would be one of my best friends forever. I’d be Crazy Uncles Stiles to her kids and we’d play poker and complain of our rheumatism in the old folk’s home. And that is why it has to be me. Because the person who kills her shouldn't find it easy. They should think it's the hardest thing in the world but do it anyway because it has to be done. I know why you’re doing this, I know you want to protect me but this is my responsibility. This is something I have to do.”

            Derek looked at him, then unfurled himself and crossed over to Stiles. Taking Stiles’ face in his hands, Derek leaned against his forehead.

            “Tell me what you need and it’s done,” he said.

            Stiles closed his hands over the top of Derek’s.

            “Thank you.” He smiled a fake imitation of his roguish grin. “But you might want to reconsider that offer. What I have in mind has a high probability of you ending up getting shot.”

            “What plan doesn’t” said Derek.


	29. Never Forgive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles needs to convince his Dad of the truth. All of it.

            “Where are we going again?” Stiles’ Dad asked him as they trekked into the woods.

            “Just a little further ahead. Angela will be here in a while.”

            “I still don’t get why we couldn’t have family time sitting in front of the TV.”

            Stiles had toyed with the idea of doing this at home but there was a high chance of freak outs and the last thing he needed right now was someone calling the police because they’d heard gunfire from the Sheriff’s house. He was glad of the walk too. It meant that he had time to clear his head or at least attempt to do so.

            “Don’t worry. Soon my elaborate plan will all be revealed,” he said with mock mysticism. His Dad looked unconvinced.

            “Is this the point where you reveal that all your behaviour this past year has been part of some great plot and actually you’re a spy? That’s why you keep ending up in the middle of every god damn mystery this town has to offer.”

            Stiles shook his head.

            “Something like that.”

            Ahead Stiles caught sight of Derek leaning against a tree. When the werewolf saw the two of them approaching he stood up straight, not quite knowing what to do with his hands as he watched the Sheriff. Stiles’ Dad saw him a second or two later, stopping in his tracks and throwing his hands up in the air.

            “Oh my God,” he said. “Is that what this is all about? You and your stupid prank with Derek Hale?”

            Stiles scrunched his eyes tight. It was just what his Aunt had done. Actually, that didn’t make anything better. His aunt was doing to his Dad exactly what mystery bad guy was doing to Lydia. She’d meant it for the best but she was still bending another person’s thoughts and feelings to her own. He suddenly wanted to rage and rant against his aunt, tell her how stupid she’d been.

            “Where’s Angela?” Derek asked quietly.

            “She’ll be along soon,” he said, ignoring his Dad. “Apparently there was a tree down over the road or something. She’s having to come the long way round.”

            “Do you wanna start without her?” Derek asked.

            “Begin what,” asked the Sheriff, beginning to sound uneasy. He was getting more and more agitated. He was beginning to notice that neither Stiles nor Derek were looking him in the eye. Stiles turned to face him but he still kept his gaze down cast.

            “Dad, there’s something I need to tell you,” said Stiles, “and you’re not going to believe me because you can’t but you’re just going to have to.”

            “You know after seventeen years, I still don’t get half of your jokes.”

            Stiles could see it in his Dad’s face. His father’s brain knew what was coming and was trying to curb the conversation away from it, trying to alter the flow of their dialogue so it wouldn’t have to alter its perception by avoiding the topic in the first place. Stiles had to keep the conversation of track.

            “It’s not a joke Dad,” Stiles said. “It’s important. It’s a part of who I am. It’s a part of what I am.”

            “Stiles, if you’re about to come out or something you really didn’t have to drag me to the middle of the woods or pretend to be dating Derek Hale. You could have just told me.”

            “It’s not that Dad. Well it is that, but it’s not- it’s all the same thing! Maybe I should start with Mom,” said Stiles looking over at Derek.

            “What has your Mom got to do with any of this?”

            “Sheriff Stilinski, your wife comes from a long line of clairvoyants,” said Derek, seeing how Stiles was struggling to get the words out. “They call themselves the Weisse Rat. They use their power to protect the world from the supernatural. Faeries, wendigos, leprechauns… and werewolves. Like me.”

            Derek made sure to fix the Sheriff with his gaze on the last sentence. The Sheriff looked at them both like they’d lost their mind. Stiles kept praying that one day it would turn out he _was_ clinically insane and all this past year had been a part of his mental breakdown. Hadn’t happened yet.

            “You take care of ghosts and goblins too?” the Sheriff asked finally.

            “Ghost’s don’t exist,” said Stiles, “and goblins are very docile and quite squishy. They give you any trouble you just step on ‘em.”

            The Sheriff looked between the two of them frowning. He put his hands together and clasped his fingers.

            “I don’t understand just what it is you two are hoping to achieve here but I had a very nice day planned. I was going to watch TV. Then I was going to do the groceries, because we don’t have any food in the house because my son is half horse. Do you do centaurs too? Then my son, my son who has been gradually growing away from me and who only a few days ago was seconds away from being blown up along with his school, says that he wants to spend some quality time with his dear old Dad. So I say ‘hell yeah’ because I don’t want to lose the one person I love most in the whole damn world because we just floated away from each other. But then he drags me out into the middle of the woods, sulks and refuses to talk like when he was thirteen and I took his skateboard away to stop him from breaking his skull. Now you’re feeding me some bullshit story about how you’re, a what, a ghostbuster?

            “I am trying, Stiles. I am trying. I know you have been through a lot but you never talk to me anymore except to make sarcastic comments, do weird practical jokes or say anything except what really matters and I can’t deal with it any more Stiles. You are my son and I love you but I need you to work with me here. You get kidnapped and beaten up and you just say ‘I’m fine, heading out with Scott now’. You nearly get blown apart and you just run out of the house the second I get you home. Every other week you turn up with a new bruise or broken bone or _bullet wound_ and pass it off with some stupid comment and I am not going to take it anymore Stiles. I’m your father! I deserve better than that.”

            Stiles and his Dad stood facing each other. His father had just started talking and the words had just poured out with the rage. The frustration of the last few months were spread out between them now, no way to take it back. Every word of that had been true. Stiles knew it was. He was the one to blame here. His Dad was just an innocent bystander in his chaos.

            In some ways it would be so much easier to just keep lying to his father, carry on drifting away, but no. This had to be done. Stiles turned to Derek and nodded.

            “You sure?” Derek asked.

            “Yeah. Show him.”

            Derek began to roll his neck as he prepared to shift. A long slow clap began and Derek stopped before his claws were even out.

            “I am ever so sorry to interrupt your charming little father-son talk before the big reveal but what can I say, I do so love eeking out the dramatic tension.”

            There was only one type of creature on this planet that spoke with that condescending Irish drawl.

            “Eoghan,” said Stiles as the man slipped out of the trees.

            “I told you we never forget and I sure as hell ain’t forgiven ya.”

            Stiles crossed over to his Dad, Derek falling in beside them so that they were flanked against the man. More were appearing, a dozen or so, surrounding them.

            “What the hell is wrong with that guy’s face,” asked his Dad, staring at the strange features of an un-glamoured faery.

            “Poor little Papa Stilinski,” said Eoghan, the obvious ring leader. “So lost and alone in the woods. Everyone around him laughing at how clueless he is.”

            Eoghan cackled, his cronies joining in with him.

            “What do you want?” Stiles asked, pressing his father further back against the trees.

            “Your liver on a silver platter,” said the faery.

            “Make sure to serve it with some Fava beans and a nice Chianti. I hear that works well,” said Stiles, unable to stop himself. “Mark didn’t work out so well did he? Free a nutcase to kill me off and he barely even sends me to hospital. And here I was thinking you guys were supposed to be evil masterminds.”

            “If you want a job doing right…” Eoghan said, trailing off.

            “What the hell is going on?” asked his Dad, suddenly becoming the Sheriff again. “Who is that?”

            “What is that would be a better question,” said Derek. He was crouching low, his claws fully out. “Faeries with a vendetta.”

            “Long story,” said Stiles. “I’ll tell you later.”

            “Have to be in hell my boy,” said the faery. “Seeing as it’s time to be killing you all.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hello Mr shit. I believe you know Mr Fan. Shall I let the two of you get better acquainted?"
> 
> Originally this scene was done with Angela rather than Lydia, so it's been re-written about four times. Hope you like it!


	30. Whiplash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles, his Dad and Derek face off against Eoghan and his gang.

            A sharp pain struck against Stiles’ side. He looked to see his clothes torn in a neat line, blood slowly seeping out. One of the faeries cackled as they recoiled their whip, preparing to strike again.

            Derek fully shifted. With a roar he caught the whip that was aimed at him, pulling the faery forward and slashing out at their torso before falling back into position. The creature screamed as his claws left three tears down its chest, weeping golden blood.

            “Okay,” said his Dad beside him, watching the fluid flow from the faeries chest. “Beginning to believe you.”

            The creatures cackled and howled, whips cracking in the air. The three of them grouped together. They were cornered.

            “Can you cut a path through so we could make a break for it?” Stiles asked Derek.

            “Too many,” said Derek. “They’ll take us down from behind.”

            “Wait Eoghan,” said one of the faeries, placing a hand on the ring leader. “That’s the one, the alpha. We’re not supposed hurt him.”

            “Then don’t,” said Eoghan, shrugging the partner off. “Stay out the way werewolf and I won’t have a cause to tear your pretty little head off those great big shoulders.”

            Derek purposefully stepped in front on Stiles. He wasn’t going anywhere.

            The faery stopped and looked thoughtful for a second.

            “Ahh well. The deal was just to kill the boy and leave the wolf but he did attack first.”

            “Deal?” asked Stiles. “What deal?”

            Eoghan smirked.

            “You think if this was just me I’d do anything as nice as kill ya? No. I’d really make ya pay but if someone wants you dead I’m happy to oblige. Always good to have a few favours owing to ya. At least I can make you watch as I choke the life out of both your father and your boyfriend.”

            Eoghan threw his arm forward and his cronies surged forward. Stiles managed to duck past one of the whips, only for another to wrap around his arm. He tried to pull the holder over but it only made the wire dig into his flesh all the deeper. Casting out with his free hand he managed to grab a fairly substantial stick so that when his attacker hauled him in he wasn’t totally defenceless against the wicked looking blade that he carried. Stiles swung but the branch never hit home. Derek was already there. He roared as he tore the head off the nearest faery, holding it aloft as a warning to the other.

            One of the faeries lashed out, the whip coiling around Stiles neck. It cut in and dug deep, the faery keeping the tension. Stiles grabbed at it but the wire was too thin to get his fingers around. Spots started to dance in front of his eyes as he struggled against the whip, flickers of light playing over his vision across the face of his murderer when there was the blast of a gun and his murderer exploded.

            Stiles looked at the pile of entrails, all that remained. No one was moving. He turned around to see Angela, gun drawn, barrel smoking. Steel bullets made amazing faery killers, it seemed.

            “Next time you want to keep me out the way, knock down a bigger tree. Dick.”

            There was a keen of frustration and the direction of the battle changed, veering away from Stiles and Derek, towards Angela. Whips lashed out and knocked the gun away from her. They moved in to take her down but years of experience were working in her favour as she fought them off.

            He heard more gunshots. His Dad. He’d snatched up Angela’s weapon and was firing on them. A short distance away one of the faeries exploded in a cloud of blue and gold. A pair of faeries swarmed on the Sheriff, resting the gun from him.

            Derek tore apart one of the faeries while Stiles dove for the gun. Eoghan went for it too, his hands closing in on it first. The faery hissed in pain as he touched the steel barrel. They fought, long fingers clamping around Stiles wrist to tear him away, but the faery was ten times stronger than Stiles. Not that it mattered. It could break every one of his fingers, Stiles would not let go of that gun.

            An elbow caught Eoghan in the face and knocked him sideways. Derek was there, above about to rend him apart. His whole body was fury and rage.

            “Stop!” said Stiles. Derek did. Without question. His claws were still digging into Eoghan’s throat but he didn’t kill him. Eoghan wasn’t acting entirely of his own accord. Someone wanted Stiles dead but Derek alive. It had to be their mystery king pin. Stiles knew it in his gut.

            Stiles staggered over to the gun and grabbed it up, shooting one of the remaining faeries. Two of the faeries looked at each other, then melted into the trees around them, disappearing. This was supposed to just be a fun bit of human killing. Instead they were dying.

            One of the remaining faeries screamed at the sight of his fallen comrade and leapt forward, out of the line of Stiles’ gun. He tried to raise it but not quickly enough. The creature landed and clamped its hands around Stiles throat. He heard his Dad shout as for the second time Stiles felt the life being choked from him. He tried to pull the fingers away but they were too strong.

            Derek leapt against the faery, biting deep into the hands around Stiles throat knocking them loose enough that he could get away. Two of the creatures swarmed the werewolf, sinking a knife deep into his shoulder but still Derek fought.

            It wasn’t enough, he’d lost too much blood and they managed to hold him down. Eoghan rounded on him, standing tall over Derek. There was a faery sword in his hand, ready to bring it down into Derek’s chest.

            “Pity, I was looking forward to a good torture.”

            Stiles snatched up a sword from one of the fallen faeries and beheaded Eoghan in a single swing. By the time he dispatched the second, the third had disappeared.

            Derek was bleeding heavily.  Stiles pushed the headless body out of the way and cradled his boyfriend in his arms.

            “Please tell me you’re okay,” Stiles begged, oblivious to the remaining faeries as they fled.

            Derek grunted and weakly waved his hand at the knife buried in his shoulder. Stiles yanked it out, making Derek roar in pain but it only lasted an instant. He’d shifted back at some point, the pain overriding his anger.

            “I’ll live. You’re alright, that’s all I care about.”

            Stiles rested their foreheads together as he held Derek close. Perhaps he could send over some of his own strength to help him heal. He wasn’t feeling too great himself actually. The whip must have hurt his throat more than he thought, it was kind of hard to breathe. Getting harder. He could barely get any air in. His throat was closing. He grabbed it clawing at his airway.

            “Stiles?” said Derek. “Stiles! _Stiles!”_

Air. He needed air. He was dying, he was going to die. This was it. He couldn’t breathe. He just needed to breathe.

            His hand was itching. He looked at it. Fang marks. Derek must have caught Stiles’ hand in the struggle. He was turning, becoming a werewolf but the Council couldn’t turn. His body was reacting and killing him in the process.

            Angela pushed Derek out the way and slammed something into Stiles’ arm. He felt his heart rate rise, his throat opened back up and that first full lungful of air gave him the biggest high he’d ever felt.

            “What happened? Is he turning?” asked Derek in a panic. “I’ve never seen it happen like that before.”

            “He can’t turn. He was having an allergic reaction to it,” said Angela. She sounded pretty pissed off. “Luckily I always carry an epi-pen in case of cashew related emergencies.”

            “He’s allergic?” asked Derek.

            “Yeah. It can happen if a person is exposed to what makes werewolves turn but in too small a dose for them to actually turn. It gets carried by more than just a saliva.” Angela grabbed Derek’s shirt and hauled him in towards her face. Her voice was so low and hissed that even Stiles had trouble hearing it. “It’s in a whole bunch of other bodily fluids as well. Next time you fuck my nephew, suit up or I swear to God I was will rip your pecker off with my teeth!”

            She let Derek go and let him slump back down in shocked silence, an mixture of embarrassment and guilt. Stiles stroked his hand against the side of Derek’s face.

            “Do I… have… to go… to… the ER… again?” Stiles croaked.

            Derek laughed and kissed him on the temple.

            “Why do you even ever leave? In this case, I think Deaton might be the better option,” said Angela with a smile.

            “Um, Stiles?”

            His Dad’s voice came from the centre of a large pile of faery corpses. The Sheriff’s arms were criss-crossed with cuts from the faery whips, bits of purple entrails were hanging from his body. Shell shocked, he looked at his son on the ground, cradled in Derek’s arms as the werewolf leaned protectively over him. Blood covered them both.

            “Yeah Dad?” Stiles asked.

            “I think I might believe you now. About everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Epi-pens are prescribed. Never give a person an epi-pen that has not been prescribed to them. It can be very dangerous.
> 
> I think I've made it clear throughout this fic my views on guns and murdering people. This does not apply to faeries. A faery gives you shit you feel free to go and shoot that fucker in the head. I fucking hate faeries.
> 
> EDIT: Apparently I didn't make it clear but this is how the allergy thing works: Stiles is exposed to low levels of werewolf juice in his 'dealings' with Derek. This gives him the allergic reaction. If he wasn't 'dallying' with Derek then when he got bitten he'd feel a bit unwell but it wouldn't nearly kill him as it does here.
> 
> I realise this wasn't clear. When I'm not currently snowed under with Thesis I'll go back and make it less rubbish.


	31. Clouds Go By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and his Dad have a long overdue talk.

            It was another miserable day outside. The sun hadn’t shown itself since the day of the explosion. It was like the clouds knew. Stiles watched out the window as they passed by. Once upon a time he’d sat and watched them with his parents to find the dragons and horses that danced across the fluffy mounds. That was a long time ago. He’d been a kid back then. Now the clouds just brought rain to beat a staccato rhythm against the window.

            The coffee maker clicked off as his Dad poured himself a much needed cup. Angela had left a few minutes ago. His Dad knew everything. About the supernatural, the Council, Stiles’ powers. Lydia.

            Neither dared to look at the other. Stiles could feel the questions welling up inside him. It started off as a small need and was rapidly growing, filling his entire body. He needed to say something but after so many months of silence he couldn’t remember how to be honest anymore.

            “Say something,” Stiles said when it got too much for him.

            “What am I supposed to say, Stiles,” his Dad said, unable to look at his own son. “Today I find out that my wife and son were part of some magical secret society, that all the strange stuff that’s happened in this town is because of freaking werewolves and faeries and then you go and land all this on me as well! I need some time to process. I saw you behead a man today or at least something that looked damn like one. That’s not something every father has to deal with.”

            Stiles hung his head. They shouldn’t have landed everything on him just yet but there wasn’t enough time, as Angela kept reminding him. They needed to get on this, and soon. God he wished Derek was here but that really would have been too much for one day.

            “I know Dad. I’m sorry.”

            His Dad drank a mouthful of coffee then stared into the cup. He shook his head and went to the side, where a bottle of Jack was waiting.

            “You shouldn’t drink so much,” said Stiles.

            “Normally I’d agree with you but today I do not care.”

            He Irished up his coffee and sat back down, drumming his finger along the neck of the bottle.

            “What I don’t get,” he said slowly, “is if Lydia is the only link you have to working out who the guy behind all this is, why are you planning on murdering her.”

            Stiles winced. He and Angela had never called it that before: murder. They never called it by its name, skirting around the crux of the matter, trusting the other to understand that giving it a name only made it that much harder to do. His Dad had noticed, probably knew that was what they were doing. It was why he’d used the word. To try and shock his son back to whatever senses he used to possess.

            “The council’s decision has been made,” Stiles said. He was struggling, trying to keep his emotions locked down beneath the surface.

            “You just said you were on this Council,” his Dad said emphatically. “You and Angela. Just unmake the decision.”

            “She’s killed people Dad,” he said. “How many did you say got pulled out of the school? Fifteen so far, most of them kids my age. That was her. She did that.”

            “So we arrest her,” his Dad shouted back. “I throw her in jail, let the justice system take its course. You keep saying you have to do ‘the right thing’, well _that_ is the right thing. Put her in jail, turn her into a pariah that parents tell their kids about. Do your home work of Lydia Martin will come get you. You don’t just kill her!”

            “And what happens when she flips in the jail, huh?” shouted Stiles. “Because she will. She’ll kill as many people as it takes to get what she- whoever’s controlling her what they want.”

            “You don’t know that. You can’t. You said yourself that your magic future telling powers are switched off right now. You don’t know what she’ll do.”

            “You’re right Dad I don’t. But I know what she said. Or rather what the mastermind said. She will finish what she’s started, no matter what it takes. Even if you charge her, lock her up in prison, what happens then? She’s a minor. There’s only so long she can go away for, even if they go for an insanity plea. This is all assuming that she doesn’t break out _again_  and go on another killing spree.”

            “This is all just conjecture. You’re guessing about what you think is going to happen. Are you willing to kill a young girl because of what you think she might do? You think she deserves to die because of that?”

            “This isn’t about whether or not I think she deserves to die Dad,” Stiles shouted. “Because she doesn’t, of course she doesn’t. It’s not about that. If I hadn’t made the decision, the Council would have done.”

            “Because of something a guy sitting in the desert a thousand years ago said? That prophesy you talked about. It said ‘ _if the path be walked unhindered_ ’ or whatever. That’s an _if_ , a most definite _if_. You can’t know for sure.”

            “This happens the way it’s going to happen Dad, there is no if, no other way. Maybe the guy didn’t see everything. Maybe he had to leave that _if_ in there because I’m not supposed to know what happens. I don’t have all the answers. The fact is that whether it’s me or another Council member, whether it’s by the lake or in a prison cell, if I can’t break this case by Sunday, Lydia dies.”

            “So they’re going to make you kill one of your best friends? Who the hell does that to a seventeen year old kid?”

            “No Dad. That part was my decision. If it’s going to happen, and it will even if you threw the entire Beacon Hills police department into protecting her it will, then it should be me to pull the trigger. I need to be the one.”

            “Why the hell would you ever want to do that?”

            “Because I just do Dad. I could try to explain why but I can’t. This is just something _I_ have to do.”

            Stiles was surprised at how dry his eyes were. He felt wretched, like he hadn’t slept in days. Truth be told sleep had been eluding him since the bombing. The only place he found any solace was in Derek’s arms. Once again, Stiles felt a pang of longing for his boyfriend, wishing he was somewhere nearby even if he couldn’t be stood at his side right now. After the events in the woods they thought it best he make himself scarce.

            His Dad looked up and stared him down. His Dad finished his coffee and leaned back in his chair.

            “There’ll be questions. People will notice she’s gone and quickly. We need to do a good cover up first, before the cops show up. If I bury evidence after the fact there’s a good chance that someone will find out and then we’re all screwed.”

            “I appreciate what you’re doing but I didn’t tell you so you could help me cover this thing up,” Stiles said.

            “Then why did you tell me Stiles?”

            “Because believe it or not I don’t like lying to you. I was sick of it. You hated what was happening between us, the distance, the distrust and so did I. If you know anything you’ve gotta know it all. This thing with Lydia, it’s mine and Angela’s thing, we’ll deal with it. All of it. You don’t need to get involved, I could never ask you that.”

            “Damn it Stiles!” His Dad whacked the mug down on the table. “Youdon’t get it, do you? I am involved. Whether you want me to be or not, I am involved. This isn’t just about me turning a blind eye. You are asking me to turn my back on everything that I believe in and let you do this. The justice system is not just an abstract concept to me, a thing written down in some office a thousand miles away I have to work to. It’s like… like a religion. I don’t do my job because I like to unravel mysteries or solve cases, that’s not why I became a cop. I became a cop because I believe in justice. I believe in innocent until proven guilty before a jury of your peers. I believe in paying the debt you owe to society for the crimes you committed. I believe in law and order and everything that it means and you are asking me to turn my back on it and I will, because you are my son and that trumps everything.”

            Stiles had never seen his Dad like this. All righteous fury and vitriol.

            “Just promise me one thing,” his Dad said.

            “Anything,” said Stiles, hoping it was a promise he could keep for once.

            “That you’ll wait. Promise me that you will wait until the absolute last moment. Say you’ll try to stop her and you’ll wait until you are absolutely sure that she’s going to do all those things you think she’s going to do. You hold back until you are sure.”

            Stiles looked his Dad straight in the eye.

            “You honestly think I could go through with it if I didn’t?”

            His Dad reached out across the table and put his hand on his son’s arm.

            “No,” he said. “I don’t. I don’t like this and I am going to spend every waking moment from now until Sunday trying to talk you out of this but I will help you.”

            Stiles stood and took his Dad’s coffee cup to wash it. He could have reassured his Dad a thousand more times that he was doing this for the right reasons but seeing as how he didn’t really believe that himself there didn’t seem much point.

            “So,” said Stiles as he ran the water. “I guess I’m not grounded for lying to you a hundred times then?”

            “Oh you’re grounded alright,” said his Dad. “You’re grounded until you move out of this house. Right now there’s a conversation we need to have. A nice, long conversation about some of your life decisions.”

            “I thought that’s what we’ve been doing all afternoon.”

            “Not those life decisions.”

            Stiles carefully put the cup on the drying rack.

            “I don’t suppose there is any chance you are referring to something that isn’t tall, dark and gets a little testy around the full moon?”

            “No chance whatsoever.”

 

*****

 

            Stiles and his Dad had had their fair share of embarrassing father-son conversations over the years. This one was by far and away the worst. It might have been the worst embarrassing father-son conversation in the history of the world. It was really more of an interrogation. His Dad had wanted to know everything. _Everything._ The dates of their various romantic milestones, their dating history, what they’d done and how often. He’d been taking notes.

            “Well we’re planning on hiding one body, might as well make it two. Do werewolves stay human or do they turn into wolves when they die,” his father had joked. At least, Stiles thought he was joking. He wasn’t totally sure.

            His Dad had reassured Stiles that he wasn’t going to hurt Derek, unless they broke up in which case Derek better start running the second they did.

            “You love him,” his father told him. “I saw that. Isn’t that what Angela said, that I wouldn’t believe unless you proved it to me. You guys should have seen each other out there. You would have done anything to protect each other. I remember what that feels like. Don’t ever let that go. If, however, he does let it go and breaks your heart I will repeatedly break his legs until they don’t heal anymore, arrest him for statutory rape, which I hope you realise is what’s happening here, and make sure that every guy in his cell bloke know that he’s in for touching kids.”

            Stiles’ Dad could be scary sometimes. Doting and loving but super, super scary.

            Stiles made his way up to his room after what had been a very, very harrowing day. He knew when he got up this morning that it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park but life hadn’t exactly gone out of its way to make things easy for him. Now, having spent the last hour and a half rehashing his relationship with Derek, all he wanted to do was crawl into bed beside him. He hesitated at the door. His bedroom always seemed so big when it was just him in there. Should he call Derek? No. He’d taken quite a battering in the fight and Stiles didn’t want to disturb his recuperation. Stiles was so tired anyway he’d probably just collapse straight away.

            There was no sound of raindrops on glass when he entered the room, even though it was pouring outside. Derek had left the window open when he’d crawled in but Stiles couldn’t bring himself to be angry at the soaked patch on his carpet, not when there was a a man he loved asleep on his bed. He wondered if anyone had ever told Derek he slept curled up like a dog. He certainly never had.

            Squelching through the wet patch he closed the window and shucked off his clothes. Derek snuffled in his sleep as Stiles wrapped himself around him. He muttered something through his dreams when Stiles stroked his fingers along Derek’s hair line until he too succumbed to the weariness the day had brought him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of feel like the quality of these updates has been a bit poor recently. I've been mega busy at work recently (THESIS MADNESS) and I haven't had the time or the energy to put into editing these as hardcore as I used to. Sorry for that but I have a PhD to write and I'm currently writing this while sat at my desk in the office at 10:45pm. In case you didn't catch that: I AM VERY STRESSED! GIVE ME YOUR PITY AND SYMPATHY!


	32. Pig vs Swan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With no school to go to the pack has taken to hanging around at the Hale House.

            “What if the swan led the pig out into open water,” said Scott. “So the pig drowns and the swan just flies away.” He was obviously proud of what he saw as a genius piece of insight into the tactics of animal warfare.

            “Pigs can swim,” said Isaac.

            “No they can’t,” said Allison. “They’re huge, they’ll sink like a stone, they have to.”

            “Yes, they can,” said Isaac. “They’re supposed to be good at it.”

            “But a pig in the water? That’s gotta be slow, right,” said Scott. “The swan could easily drown it.”

            “Are you guys still arguing about this?” said Derek, vaulting the back of the sofa to sit beside Stiles. “Every week, one of you brings up the topic again and every week we have the same discussion and every week you decide that the pig would win.”

            It was Saturday already. With a temporary school not yet organised the kids of Beacon Hills were using the opportunity to take another holiday in the middle of the semester. For the pack and its various hangers on this seemed to have culminated in spending most days annoying Derek at his house.

            Old Stiles would have been fine with that. Old Stiles would have been coming up with a hundred and one ways to use the time and having a great time but Old Stiles didn’t have two days to come up with a reason not to kill one of his best friends. He was running out of time. He wanted to curl up in bed and cry or lose himself in Derek. Instead he was sat down here with his friends, trying to distract himself and failing.

            “Actually, Allison and Scott are never convinced,” said Erica. “Me and Stiles always think the pig would win. The two of us are just louder and more stubborn.”

            “Don’t I know it,” said Derek taking a swig from his beer.

            Stiles smiled at them weakly while Derek scrunched his fingers into his hair.

            “It’s important,” said Erica.

            “Why don’t you just get a pig and a swan and make them duke it out?” asked Derek.

            There was a chorus of ‘animal cruelty’ and ‘not the point’ so Derek rolled his eyes and let them get on with it.

            “Even if you could get a pig and a swan together, how would you get them to fight?” said Isaac.

            “I don’t think that would be hard,” said Jackson. He rarely forayed into the realms of ‘pig vs swan’. “Swans are bastards. Pigs are evil. Put them together, they’ll fight.”

            “Pigs are lovely,” said Allison in defence, even though she was supposed to be Team Swan.

            “Pigs eat people,” said Jackson to a chorus of laughter. “I’m serious. Pigs have frequently killed and eaten their owners. Look it up.”

            “So is this how you spend all your Tuesday afternoons,” asked Danny, leaning across to whisper in Isaac’s ear.

            “Pretty much,” said Isaac. “It’s important to think about these things. That and Derek buys us beer.”

            There was a cheer as the pack held their bottles aloft.

            “But you don’t get drunk,” said Danny.

            “We might not get drunk but Stiles does and that is hilarious,” said Jackson.

            Stiles looked at the bottle in his hand. He was usually on his second by now and trying to sneak a third without Derek noticing. He’d had about two sips of this one.

            “You know,” said Stiles, “if you really want me Jackson you don’t have to ply me with alcohol. You will however need to get past Mr. Jealousy over here.”

            Derek growled on queue and wrapped an arm around Stiles protectively.

            “Oh joy,” said Peter strolling past the living room. “My lounge is filled with cavorting teenagers. Again.”

            “You love us really,” said Allison. She was beginning to feel the effects of her own few brewskis. Peter rolled his eyes back into his head and leaned against the door frame. His eyes quickly passed over the assembled hoard.

            “Isn’t there normally more of you?” he asked.

            “Lydia is being boring,” said Allison. “Apparently she doesn’t seem to think the school being a bomb crater any reason to stop studying.”

             Lydia’s absence seemed to beat Stiles round the head with a bat but the others were completely un-phased. Probably because he knew that she wasn’t actually in the library, like she claimed. She was out there, somewhere, doing dark deeds. He knew because he’d tried to follow her. They’d bugged her car, her phone, everything. Whatever they did, it wasn’t enough. One minute she was there, then they’d look away for a second and she was gone.

            “Maybe you should take a leaf from her book rather than sitting around getting drunk at four in the afternoon. Honestly Derek, giving alcohol to minors? As if sleeping with an underage boy wasn’t bad enough. Better hope the Sheriff never finds out.”

            Derek went stiff and Stiles slid himself out from his arms under the pretence of putting his beer back on the table.

            “My Dad knows,” said Stiles simply. There was a chorus of disbelief and demands for an explanation.

            “I thought you said he didn’t believe you,” said Scott.

            “Well he does now,” said Stiles.

            “That explains it,” said Allison. “He was with my Dad the other day talking guns. I thought it was the day job stuff but maybe not.”

            “He was getting wolf’s bane bullets,” said Stiles. He cast a look back over his shoulder at Derek. “Not for you, don’t worry. Well… not unless you do something really stupid like break up with me.”

            Derek shook his head and pulled Stiles back in close to him.

            “You tell him everything then?” asked Boyd warily. “Werewolves, faeries, the whole nine yards?”

            Stiles nodded.

            “Everything.”

            While the conversation about his secret supernatural crime fighting life had been bad it was the conversation about his secret supernatural boyfriend that was certain to scar him for life. Allison leant forward with that smile she reserved for when she was up to no good. There must have been something in his wide eyed, unblinking stare that clued her in.

            “Everything?” she said with a pointed flick of the eyes to where Derek sat.

            Stiles fixed her gaze.

            “Allison. You do not want to know exactly how ‘everything’ everything was. It was the most awkward conversation I have ever had with anyone and I’m me. My life is a whole heap of awkward covered with a thin layer of humour and sarcasm.”

            “Should I be worried?” Derek asked with a laugh that only accentuated his genuine apprehension.

            “No. Well yes, because he’s probably going to corner you at some point for an equally awkward conversation.”

            “So he’s not going to shoot me?”

            “Derek, my Dad is not going to shoot you! There would be far too many forms to fill out and he’s a lazy ass when it comes to paper work.”

            “Good. I can deal with awkward conversations.”

            “Really?” asked Stiles, having a particularly vivid flash back.

            “How awkward could it be?” asked Derek.

            Stiles breathed in deeply, trying to block out the memory.

            “He wanted to know who did what to who.”

            “What?” asked Derek.

            “It was quite sweet actually. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t being taken advantage of and was finding my own satisfaction and why am I having this conversation in a room full of people?”

            Stiles turned back to his friends, suddenly remembering that he and Derek weren’t alone. The rest of them avoided each other’s gaze, trying not to laugh (Isaac, Erica and Allison), feeling super awkward (Danny, Boyd and Jackson) or trying to find their happy place where this conversation wasn’t happening (Scott, whose mind was currently with Allison on a desert island where all their clothes seemed to have gone missing).

            “So…” said Erica after a while. “Who does do what to who?”

            “Erica!”

            “Oh my god.”

            “What?”

            “Please for the love of god do not answer that!”

            “Lalalalalala,” said Scott sticking his fingers in his ears.

            “Oh come on,” said Erica over the din. “Like you guys weren’t all thinking it too.”

            “No! No we were not!” shouted Scott.

            “Oh would you look at that,” said Stiles. “I appear to be suffering from some severe intestinal distress. I suddenly need to go the bathroom. For a long time. By myself.”

            He launched himself over the arm of the couch and bolted upstairs, leaving Derek to control his troops. There was a line that existed between being friendly with his pack and hurting is position as alpha. It was a line that was getting crossed with increasing frequency. Stiles could hear the Derek’s roars as he exerted his dominance once more but Stiles just slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it.

            He sat down on the edge of the cracked bath and breathed deeply. He wasn’t about to cry or have a panic attack or any of the usual things that happened to him in these situations. He was just so tired of keeping himself together in front of everyone. They laughed and joked and carried on like nothing had changed, while he readied himself to dive off a cliff he knew there was no coming back from. It would be fine if he could just let them know but he couldn’t risk Lydia finding out. He just needed a moment to be alone and deal with everything.

            Tomorrow. It was going to happen tomorrow. Tomorrow he would watch as Lydia prepared to poison an entire town and he would slip a knife into her back in order to stop her. There was no way out. He realised that now. Once he’d done it, once he’d taken that final step there would be no salvation for him. No matter the cause or reason he hid behind, he would always be someone who murdered one of their closest friends. It would almost be bearable if he didn’t have to drag the two people he cared about most in the universe in with him.

            On the wall were the remains of an ornate mirror. The glass had cracked from the heat of the fire. Stiles looked at himself, fractured a thousand times over. Each shard showed a different part of his face, disjointed and no one piece able to show the whole of him. In some places the silvering of the mirror had started to come away, twisting the already shattered image even more.

            Standing up he reached over and ran his hand down the glass, feeling the edges and splinters beneath his fingers. When he took his hand away at first his fingers looked whole but after a second thin channels of blood began to push its way through all the tiny, straight cuts that criss-crossed his skin.

            There was a metaphor in there somewhere. Or maybe it was a simile. What did he care? He didn’t have to worry about English Lit anymore because his English teacher had been shooing two lovebirds out of the store cupboard when the bomb went off.

            Stiles sucked on his finger. It would heal.

            He opened the door and was slightly shocked to see Jackson leaning on the opposite wall waiting for him.

            “Jackson. I didn’t think you’d be the one to chase me down here to find out about the intricacies of my sex life. Because there are many intricacies. In all conceivable directions.”

            “I have no idea what you are talking about Stilinski. I don’t want to talk to you about your kiddie fiddler boyfriend. I want to talk to you about my girlfriend.”

            Stiles was suddenly paying a lot of attention to him.

            “Why? Has she said something?”

            “So you’ve noticed it to. It’s not just me.”

            “Noticed what? What have I noticed? I didn’t notice anything.”

            Crap. Stiles really needed to work on his deception. Half of this job was covering up the other half.

            “Sure,” said Jackson, obviously tired of this bullshit. “She’s supposed to be at the library today. She’s been at the library every spare minute for like the last month. I hardly ever see her outside of school anymore. You see… I’ve been trying to work on some of my issues. I’ve been going to anger management sessions,” he laughed and shook his head. “I was taking them in that piece of crap community centre that got hit by those bad drugs the other week so that no one would know I was going. How fucked up is that? They worked though. I was getting a grip on it. I am getting a grip on it. I thought things with me and Lydia were getting better but now she’s pulling away. She says she’s studying but her grades were still falling. When I went to confront her about it at the library, she wasn’t there. The next day, I followed her-”

            “You followed her?”

            “I tried,” said Jackson. “But it was like Scooby fucking Doo. I turned a corner and she was gone. Every day she would start walking towards the library and then just disappear.”

            “And you think I have something to do with this?”

            “Stiles, if I thought you had anything to do with this we wouldn’t be having this conversation because I would have torn your vocal chords out with the rest of your throat.”

            Weirdly, that didn’t sound quite so sexy as when Derek had first suggested he do just that.

            “Alrighty then. So why are you asking me?”

            “Because you’re like her gay BFF now. If there was something going on with her, if she was going to tell anyone, it would be you.”

            Stiles felt a momentary triumph, knowing it was true. It didn’t last long. It was because she trusted him. Completely. And what was he about to do with that trust?

            “No,” said Stiles. “She’s been weird recently, which considering the standard bedrock of weird we’re used to by now is saying something. She’s been through a lot though.”

            “I know.”  Was that the slightest hint of guilt in Jackson’s voice? “It’s like… whenever Lydia has some project she wants to achieve, some goal, she gets this certain look about her. That drive she has, it takes over her whole body. She has that now but I don’t know what she’s after.”

            There were times that Stiles forgot that it wasn’t just Lydia’s love for Jackson that had broken the kanima curse. It was his love for her too. He could see that love now.

            “I’ll get on her tail tomorrow,” said Stiles. “Try and see what I can do.”

            “Thanks,” said Jackson. “As much as I hate you I’m glad she has you on her side.”

            Stiles had to dig his fingers into his leg trying stop himself from screaming. He nodded silently.

            “I mean it,” said Jackson mistaking his quietness for some new found humility. “You’ve changed; become someone I can actually tolerate. It suits you.”

            Stiles nodded again. He had changed and not just from joining the Council or because of Derek. He’d been changing since before then, ever since him and Scott had gone looking for that severed body. Then he’d been a stupid kid fumbling around in the dark. Now he was a man striding into the shadows fearlessly. He wasn’t entirely sure if the transition had been entirely for the better.

            “Thanks for saying that man,” he said. “But sometimes…”

            He trailed off remembering who he was talking to.

            “What Stilinski?” asked Jackson.

            “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like you care anyway.”

            “You’re right. I don’t. But you appear to be having some sort of crisis of your own right now and I owe you and your boy toy a favour for not killing me.”

            Stiles didn’t know why he felt compelled to spill his guts out to Jackson of all people. Maybe it was _because_ he didn’t care. He was just a disinterested third party, a sounding board for all his woes.

            “I don’t know, I guess I wish I could go back to how things were before all this. How I was. I miss that kid. Don’t get me wrong, I love having something to support the weight of my own massive ego and I wouldn’t give up Derek for anything but… I wish I didn’t have to be so goddamn worldly all the time. I wish that my biggest care in the world was getting past the next boss on Deus Ex or what I can do to put off my English homework for as long as possible. Instead, I’m having to deal with real monsters that are trying to rip my heart out and kill everyone I love and I don’t need to worry about my English homework because the teacher’s dead.”

            He slumped back against the wall, hitting his head lightly against the wall.

            “Shit,” said Jackson. “Well, sucks to be you but you took the stupid coat. You’re just going to have to wear it. I’m going to get another beer.”

            Jackson turned and walked down the corridor.

            “Yeah,” said Stiles. “Sucks to be me. Good talk Jackson. Good talk.”

            He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He walked back into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. No one had forced him to take the white, to put on the coat and look at his own death in the mirror. He remembered the vision he’d had, sometimes they came more clearly than others. He looked at his broken reflection in the mirror, remembering the day he watched himself die, strong arms around him as the orange sunlight danced on the water. Finally at peace.

            _Lydia stands in his place, her hands drip with blood. She is crying and laughing. Screaming and smiling._

_He is himself again, but now stands in the woods, his coat is the colour of fresh blood. His reflection puts up the hood and his face is shrouded in darkness as deep as the universe. His mirror self steps backwards, disappearing into the woods_

            Stiles stepped backwards hitting his legs against the bathtub. His death hadn’t been the only thing he’d seen that day. Lydia. He’d seen Lydia. He’d seen all this before and now he recognised it for what it was. He even recognised the coat. It was still sitting in the pristine white box it had come in the day he’d first tried to tell his father about Derek.

            He knew then that trying to find a way out was pointless. There was no way out. He was a member of the Weisse Rat. It was his birthright, his obligation, his destiny. Lydia was dangerous. It was his responsibility to protect his home and all those he loved from her. Tomorrow Lydia would die by his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously. The thing about pigs eating people: true. Never trust a pig man. Never trust a pig...


	33. Little Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles prepares for what must be done.

            Stiles slept alone that night. When he’d told Derek not to stay over, Stiles had been expecting him to demand that he stay to keep Stiles company. The calm resignation and understanding he gave instead shocked Stiles. He knew that Derek wouldn’t be far away, not tonight. If Stiles called, Derek would be there in a second and knowing that was enough for him right now. He needed to be by himself but while he and Derek loved each other he’d never really be alone.

            Despite himself, Stiles fell asleep with ease. Perhaps it was his ridiculous brain protecting itself for once, shutting down rather than dealing with what he had to do the next day. When he woke up again he was not entirely surprised to realise he wasn’t the only one in the room. What did surprise him was that it wasn’t Derek or even his father but Angela who was sat at his desk. She was drumming her fingers on the white box he’d set on the table ready. She was already wearing her red coat, the double of his own that was currently safely contained within the box where it couldn’t hurt anyone. He’d left his mother’s knife on the top, as if to ward the world from that coat. Angela’s fingers slipped in their percussion and slid perilously close to the blade.

            “Don’t cut yourself. You’ll start vomiting green all over everything and I really don’t have time to get things dry cleaned.”

            He tumbled out of bed in an undignified sprawl and crossed over to where she was sitting at the desk. Her eyes were staring blankly. He face, usually impassive at best, was completely devoid of anything. It was like a manikin. Dead.

            “You better get dressed,” she said making no move to give him some privacy.

            “Guess I’ll go change in the bathroom then,” said Stiles unwilling to break whatever trance Angela was in.

            He’d laid out his clothes ready last night. He’d thought long and hard, alternating between semi-formal clothes that Lydia would appreciate or practical clothes that he didn’t mind ruining. Then he’d thought about how they’d get ruined and opted for the button down shirt and black pants he’d worn to his cousin’s wedding last year and spent half an hour shining his shoes. Whatever world lay after this one, he knew that Lydia would be sat there complaining about how the person who killed her didn’t even have the decency to have shiny shoes.

            When he walked back in dressed like he was heading for a job interview Angela had the sense to not say anything. Stiles walked over to his shelves, grabbing his wallet and keys from where he’d left them. From out of an old photo his mother beamed proudly at him. Stiles picked up the frame to look closer at it, making the slew of letters propped behind it fall out. Letters that his mother had written while she was still alive to be sent to him after she’d died.

            Stiles gathered them back up and looked at them, finding the last letter he’d received from her. She’d known he would take the white, known about Derek, known about all of it but she’d put no warning of this. Had she seen he’d do this? Had his mother known he would become a murderer in the name of duty. It was just giving him advice on choosing between his head and his heart. Lydia and Derek.

            He ran his fingers over where she’d signed off _All my love in the world. Your mother._ No word on Lydia’s eventual fate. Just some cryptic words, _Ignore the claw, cut the rope_ and that final send off.

            In a way Stiles was glad his mother wasn’t here to see this. He hoped that whatever it was that clouded his sight had constricted her own and that all this was a blank to her. He pressed a kiss to the letters and put them back where they came from before walking back over to his aunt standing by the box.

            She carefully moved the knife from the top of the box before opening it. The black tissue caught in the draft and flickered for a moment, like flames of darkness, flashing red as they bellowed round the coat contained within. She stared at it, as if sleep walking then stepped away.

            The second his hands touched the leather he felt the same sapping sensation as when he’d first picked it up. It was as if all the things that made him Stiles were being leeched away: his boisterous hyperactivity; his sarcastic sense of humour; his personality.

            “This is the Mantel of the Executioner,” said Angela. Her voice sounded like gravestones.

            “What is it doing?” he asked.

            “It finds your feelings and emotions and cuts them off.”

            “To make it easier?” asked Stiles. For all his talk of not wanting it to be easy he suddenly really wanted anything that would make the task a little more bearable.

            “In a sense. Before you kill a person, any person, there is always a moment of hesitation. Doubt, fear, empathy, all of these things bring it on. It can just be a moment, a fraction of a heart beat before you drive the knife home. There’s more than one Council man in his grave from that hesitation. Stop the doubt, stop the fear and the empathy and there is no pause. Only the job that must be done.”

            It wasn’t cold. That was what made her words so terrifying. They were just words devoid of anything deeper.

            She took the coat from out of his hands and held it out for him to slip on. The moment his hands left it, he felt the apprehension flood over him again. What if it all went wrong? What if they were wrong? All the ifs, buts and maybes were spinning in his head over and over. He slid one of his arms into the sleeve and the thoughts just went away like smoke in a draft. He saw the job ahead of him, laid out in its set path. Get to the lake early, hide and wait. In the fullness of time Lydia would show up, they would wait to see what her plan was, try to find some link to who was controlling her and then he would slide the knife his mother left him into her heart and watch as her blood flowed out, taking her life with it.

            Stiles adjusted the coat on his shoulders. It felt surprisingly light. Grabbing up the knife and sheath, he buckled it around his waist and closed the coat over the top.

            “Where’s Dad?” he asked. Hearing his own voice back in his ears he could hear the difference. There was nothing to it. Flat. Toneless. Empty.

            “Waiting downstairs to go. He said he couldn’t face this bit. I don’t blame him.”

            “I hate that I dragged him into this.”

            Stiles knew that he hated it. Hours of his life had been lost to him angsting over his father knowing his son was willingly about to commit murder but right now he couldn’t feel any of that. So he turned around and began towards the corridor. Half way to the door he caught sight of himself in the long mirror on the inside of his open cupboard door. The high neck and close cut of the jacket suited him, the colour offsetting his own wonderfully. He looked handsome in it. No more than that, he looked beautiful in his coat, the coat that was specifically crafted to help hide the blood.

            Angela’s hand weighted heavily on his shoulder.

            Stiles stared at himself in the mirror. It wasn’t him staring back. It was some man who had grown up from the boy who used to live in this room. Where was he now? Would he ever come back? Did he want to? But these were all questions for a different day.

            “I’m sorry. No one should have to understand what it feels like to wear a coat such as this, especially not one so young.” She paused, some stray thought picking at her mind. “Do you remember I told you once that our names all mean something? You gave yourself your name, Stiles, perhaps foreseeing your own destiny.”

            “I remember. What does that have to do with anything?”

            “It seems both you and your mother will be Council members of note for all the wrong reasons. She returned her white coat and you, as of this moment, are the youngest person to ever wear the red coat of an Executioner. I’m so sorry I couldn’t see more clearly before I named you, Little Red.”


	34. Dreams of Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang head down to the lake to do what must be done.

            In the summer months the lake would be a heaving with people. They’d bring up their boats and kayaks, kids would play in the shallows and the air would be thick with the scent of cooking meat. In the evenings high-school kids would light illegal fires and drink beer, sleeping out under the stars. Stiles had done it with the pack once or twice last summer. Just chilling out with nothing to worry about beyond when the booze would run out. Now it was empty, abandoned for miles around. The usually blue waters of the lake looked grey, the light deadened by the ever present clouds. The slipway that people would bring their boats down was gated off, the sandy shoreline covered in pine needles and leaves.

            “You’re sure about this,” his father asked for the thousandth time.

            Stiles knew that this was weighing heavily on his father’s conscious. He wished he had his foresight to look ahead at what would happen to the man who had always been there for his son, even when he told him he was planning a murder. In his own imagination he conjured up images of his father with a bottle in his hand, the two of them growing more and more distant as the years past until there was nothing left between them. News reports blasted from ever radio, television and headline: ‘ _Search for runaway continued_ ’, ‘ _Body found in woods_ ’. Eventually his Dad would feel forced to hand in his badge, unable to stand the shame of wearing it anymore knowing how it was a lie. Stiles never should have told him.

            “Yes,” Stiles lied, “I’m sure.”

            Derek had parked his car a few miles away so that Lydia wouldn’t get suspicious. Stiles’ Dad was going to drive his own car to join it for the same reason and come and pick them up after the deed had been done. The werewolf came running in from the woods, heading towards his boyfriend before catching sight of the Sheriff. Instead he slowed and nodded curtly at them.

            “Sheriff Stilinski. Angela. Stiles.”

            “Mr Hale,” said Stiles’ Dad.

            They were both keeping a distance from each other, Stiles could tell. That should irritate him or concern him or… something him. But it didn’t. It didn’t make him feel anything at all. He looked at Derek. Where was the usual swell of love and want he felt whenever Derek walked in the room? It was just absent. It was the coat, he told himself, the coat was robbing him of his feelings and that might help him get through the next few hours but what would happen when it came time to take the coat back off again?

            “You all know the plan,” said Angela. “Stiles will be watching the parking lot. I will be in the woods near the water front with Derek.”

            “And I’ll be sitting in a car three miles away pretending this isn’t happening,” said Stiles’ Dad.

            “Wouldn’t it be better if you weren’t here at all?” said Derek. The Sheriff glared at him and he snapped to attention. “Sir. But won’t it be easier to cover up this whole thing if you’re not here, if we need an alibi.”

            “Son, nothing about this thing is going to be easy,” said the Sheriff. “No matter what way this goes down, I’ll be carrying this around for the rest of my life. We all will and it’s only going to get harder as time goes on. I know her parents from when she ran away. They’ll have her picture on every milk carton, her name in every newspaper, they’ll do everything they can to bring that girl home because I am going to do everything in my power to make sure that it looks like she ran away again. If my son is going to do something this idiotic, I am going to make damn sure that he doesn’t go to jail for it.”

            Derek bowed his head in submission, a small motion that was not lost on Stiles. His Dad looked at them all in disgust and walked away back to his car, most likely to talk himself in and out of this whole affair a dozen times before the moment finally came.

            “Take five mintues,” said Angela. “Then we move into position.”

            She stalked walked back to the car leaving Derek and Stiles alone together. Derek walked up to him almost sheepishly, constantly looking over his shoulder at the Sheriff.

            “I’m not sure if he’s pissed because of me or because of the whole…”

            “Murder thing,” said Stiles bluntly. Derek looked up at him, knowing his boyfriend wasn’t entirely himself.

            “Yeah,” said Derek. “That thing. How are you doing?”

            “I’m going to murder one of my closest friends,” he said plainly. “I’m raring to go. Can’t wait.”

            “I was expecting sarcastic comments but this isn’t you. There’s nothing to you right now, it’s like you’re-”

            “Angela?” Stiles finished. “It’s just the coat. Second I take it off I go back to being a jibbering wreck of a man.”

            Derek frowned. “I thought you said you didn’t want this to be easy. You wanted it to be difficult, it should be difficult you said.”

            “And it will be. It’s to stave off the second of doubt when they look at you with those big blue eyes, begging for their life. That doubt’s already earned be a broken arm, I’d rather not let Lydia use it to remove my balls as well.”

            Derek looked like he was holding back some comment but instead he just came to stand beside Stiles, arms pressed close in together, unwilling to embrace him in front of his father.

            “The offer’s still there. If you want me to, I’ll do it. Just another mountain lion attack. Easy cover up.”

            Stiles thought about it objectively for the first time. Another mountain lion attack, easily swept into the ever growing file of them. It could make their lives easier. No. It wouldn’t. There had already been too many in the area. It wouldn’t be long before some other government agency was called in to control them. Another attack would only raise the profile of ‘Beacon Hills: Land of the Weird’, bring in other hunters who had nothing to do with the Council. But a girl who’d already run away once before disappearing? There would be a huge uproar for a few months and then in time most people would forget. _Most_ people.

            “No. It should be me. I want the last face she sees to be one she knows. I just need your help to hide the body. We better be going.”

            Stiles looked over to his aunt as she pulled her supplies out of the back of the car. She was assembling something, pulling the components out of their case and clipping them together with practiced ease. It was a sniper rifle.

            “Just in case,” she said.

 

*****

 

            Stiles waited alone. He was glad of the coat as he hid in the gloom of the forest. Without it he would have no option but to wait here with nothing but his thoughts for company. Occasionally he and Derek would trade words over the headsets Angela had brought but with both her and his father listening in their conversations had no real depth to them. They were just chattering, trying to pass the time.

            He got lost in the waves as they lapped against the shore, black and sluggish. The clouds had dispersed for the first time in weeks and the sky was clear, beginning to tinge yellow as the sun rode low in the sky. He knew this place as a social hub, alive with people and families. Now it was vacant. The long jetty which should have a dozen boats moored to it was empty, a forgotten line trailing in the water, abandoned until the summer.

            Stiles spotted the pickup pull into empty parking lot first, announcing it to the others. The flat bed was jammed full of oil barrels. Lydia stepped out, dressed in practical boots and jacket like she was just off to do a spot of gardening.

            “She’s here, Dad. Start bringing the car round in case we need a quick getaway.”

            “Alright,” said his Dad and his radio cut out in a hiss of static as he turned it off. He wasn’t about to listen to this if he didn’t have to.

            After a fight with a pair of bolt cutters Lydia managed to snip the chain from the slipway gate, giving her access to the water’s edge. Stiles slunk closer, sticking to the shadows. Every move she made, he was watching, trying to hold back until the last moment possible.

            She stood at the water’s edge for a moment, then to his surprise she took off her shoes and dipped her toes into the water. At first she jumped from the cold. The next time she managed a whole five seconds, the next a whole foot. Each time she returned she managed to get further and further into the water, forcing herself further out. What was she doing? Stiles watched her closely. It was more than just the cold that was pulling her back each time. It was like something was pulling her, trying to stop her from going deeper, but every time she fought back to walk in again.

            The control. She was fighting the control over her mind.

            _Come on_ , Stiles willed. _Fight it. Fight this thing and please, please win!_

She was splashing about, moving around in the frigid water. Every second she spent in the cold water Stiles hope grew. If she could fight it, if she could win then there might just be hope for her.

            She turned suddenly as if hearing someone call her name. Her shoulders sank and she began to walk back into the shore. She was being called back. Could the person brainwashing see her and know what she was doing? Were they here?

            Stiles clicked the Web into his vision. There it was again, a bright chain of gold and black binding her. It disappeared into the distance off into the trees. It was strong. Glowing brightly. They were close.

            “Angela,” he whispered, desperate. “The Web. You see that? I think they’re here.”

            “Yeah,” she said. “They’ve probably come up to see the job done right. We have to get the jump on them. Derek, you still in position?”

            “Yes,” came another disembodied voice.

            “Due west of your position, quiet as you can. You see anything, radio back in. We might have just gotten one hell of a break.”

            “West? Doesn’t that mean you’re closer?”

            “I’m up a tree with the rifle, remember. You go.”

            “Fine.”

            Stiles watched as Lydia struggled to lift a barrel out of the back of the truck. It was half the size she was. He nearly stepped forward to lend her a hand before remembering why they were there.

            “Anything?” Stiles asked quietly as he watched her roll the barrel up to the water line.

            “There’s someone here,” said Derek. “Is that you Angela? It’s around your position.”

            “Is it coming from the top of a tree?” she asked.

            “No,” said Derek.

            “Then not me. I don’t see anyone from up here. Keep looking.”

            Derek grunted down the line. “I need a few more minutes to track it down.”

            “We don’t have a few more minutes,” said Angela. “Stiles you need to move in before she dumps that shit into the water or I will.”

            “Let me talk to her first,” said Stiles.

            “And tip off the guy Derek’s stalking that we’re here!”

            “So we just kill her instead?”

            “Fine,” said Angela, “but she tries anything, I shoot.”

            “Can’t talk,” said Derek. “I think they’re close.”

            Stiles took off his head set to hide it from Lydia’s keen eye. He didn’t announce himself when he stepped forward walking towards the beach. Lydia stopped to take a breather, barrel already by the water front. She stretched her arms to crack out the kinks in her spine when she caught sight of Stiles.

            “Hey!” she said, smiling brightly. “What are you doing out here?”

            She ran over and hugged him, like everything was normal and this was the most ordinary thing in the world. She had no idea what she’d been doing or about to do. For a moment Stiles was struck by how beautiful she looked like this; dressed in worn old clothes with her hair roughly tied back in a ponytail, the low evening sun lighting her with a peachy glow.

            “Back at ya,” he said.

            She looked confused for a second then shook her head and laughed as her brain overwrote what her senses were telling her.

            “Snazzy jacket,” she said taking in the coat. “Derek get it for you?”

            “No,” said Stiles. “It’s council issue.”

            “You okay there? You seem weird.”

            “I’m always weird. It’s my characteristic. I’m the weird Stilinski kid.”

            “No,” she said slightly unconvinced. “You’re not one of the weird kids. The weird kids are the ones that sit around and just stare at you for hours on end, like Nathan Sparrow.”

            “Nathan’s dead,” said Stiles. “He died in the explosion.”

            “What?” said Lydia. She frowned, rubbing her temple like she had a head ache.

            “Something wrong?” Stiles asked hopefully.

            “No. Well, not really. I keep getting these splitting headaches lately.”

            “You should really see a doctor about that.”

            Stiles strained to hear a wolf howl in the distance, a sound of commotion coming from the trees as Derek attacked whoever was doing this.

            “What are you doing out here?” asked Stiles.

            “Me? Oh I’m just…” she turned at looked back at the lake as if just remembering it was winter. “I can’t remember why I’m here. Whose car am I even driving?”

            She looked scared again, as she’d done when they’d interrogated her before. She was backing away, not from him but from herself.

            “Think Lydia,” said Stiles. “You remember driving?”

            “Yes,” she said slowly. “I didn’t come from home. I came from somewhere else. It’s  happening again, isn’t it?”

            Stiles put his hands on her shoulders as she looked up at him with swimming eyes.

            “It’ll be alright,” he said. “You’ll be fine but I need you to remember. I need you to fight this thing.”

            Lydia closed her eyes tightly.

            “I was at home. Then I went somewhere.”

            “Where Lydia? Tell me where?”

            She was shaking her head, trying to get the false memories out.

            “I went to the library. No I went… I went- _gyahh!_ ”

            She screamed and clutched at her head, throwing herself away from Stiles. Instinctively he went to help her but she lashed out, clawing her fingernails at him. Her face was contorted into a hideous snarl. She’d lost the fight.

            He tried to calm her down but she lunged at him, forcing her hands around his throat. They fell together. Struggling he managed to get his knife out of its sheath. Her hands clasped around his own, struggling to get control of the blade. The tip was dangerously close to his chin. It would only take one nick to knock him out and then it would be game over. He needed to get to her first.

            He was stronger and had far more combat training than her but she was filled with some fire quite apart from her own natural temper. She fought like a hell cat. With a particularly violent thrust forward, she brushed the flat of the blade into Stiles face but didn’t break the skin. For a second she overbalanced and he pulled her over, the knife neatly nicking her perfect skin. She staggered and then fell, clutching the scratch.

            “What… what…” she stuttered.

            He knelt over her, staring down. There was barely a trickle of blood there but it was all he needed. She was helpless but there was no guaranteeing how long for. Hopefully, long enough.

            He fished around in his pocket to get the headset back out and call into Derek and Angela. Please, he begged, please have caught this guy.

            “It seems you have my queen, Little Red,” came a voice from nearby.

            Stiles recognised that voice instantly. He should have known.

            He knew what would be awaiting him before he even thought about turning around. Derek was held up by the throat, dark channels of blood running down his neck as claws dug in. He looked weak, barely able to stand. He looked drugged.

            “Fortunately, I have yours,” said Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit just got real.


	35. Stalemate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles plays a dangerous game.

            Stiles stayed crouched on the floor. Whatever Peter had done to Derek it was acting a hundred times faster than the bullet when Kate had shot him.

            “You okay there honey?” he asked as he slowly stood.

            Derek blinked at him slowly, unable to nod or shake his head.

            “He’ll live,” said Peter. “It’ll wear off. I don’t want to kill Derek if I don’t have to.”

            “Why not?” said Derek. “I should have known it was only a matter of time. You’ve been trying to kill me all along like you did with Laura.”

            Peter tisked and shook his head.

            “You don’t see it do you? The thing all my little trial runs have in common? That one clue you’ve all been looking so hard for, do you know what it is? You weren’t supposed to be there Derek. Why would I want to risk harming the man I want by my side when the revolution comes?”

            Trials? When the revolution comes? What the hell was Peter up to? Stiles was trying to process it all while coming up with a way to get Derek out of harm’s way. The concern that should have been crippling Stiles right now played in the background as he sought a way out of this problem.

            “By your side?” said Derek. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you poisoning people anyway?”

            “Poisoning?” Peter scoffed. “I wasn’t poisoning anyone.”

            “I think the dozens of folks you sent to the hospital would disagree,” said Stiles.

            Peter looked at him, only in that moment remembering that Stiles was there. He looked at Lydia, not with concern but appraisal. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Beneath Stiles, Lydia’s eyelids flickered and she shook. When she opened her eyes again it was the puppet that looked back.

            “Good. It looks like you haven’t killed my little queen yet. She’s served her purpose, but I think there will be use for her still.”

            “What the fuck are you doing?” said Derek, having to breathe between each word.

            “Can’t you see? Hasn’t your amazing little boyfriend worked it all out with his connections and computers and books? I really should thank you Stiles. I never would’ve been able to do this without you. You know when I was your age I was a bit like you. I had to know everything, I had to read all the books, find out the mystery, unravel it. In another life, who knows, maybe I would have been calling your Dad ‘boss’. I read everything we had on the world of the weird and wonderful but our records were spotty at best. I knew there was so much more to it all, more than was even chronicled in those books and I just needed to find it. I had to track it down. We went to the White Lodge a few times, I knew the knowledge that the Council had. I knew they could reveal it all to me but they guarded it so fiercely. Even when I was screwing your aunt I couldn’t get close.

            “Then you come along with the library of the White Council, the compendium of all knowledge and wisdom over three thousand years and just leave it on the table for me to pick up. Better, you scan it onto my laptop so I can surf through it any time I want! Every beast they’ve slain, every rite they’ve performed, every potion, poultice and powder they’ve ever cooked up, for whatever purpose they needed that day.”

            He looked lovingly at the barrel that sat on the water’s edge.

            “The alchemists of the day called it the Wolf’s Scourge. They couldn’t see the potential it had with just a little bit of tweaking. Luckily I had on my hands one of the most brilliant alchemist’s of _our_ day.”

            His eyes fell down to Lydia as she lay peacefully on the floor.

            “Wolf’s Scourge?” Stiles encouraged. He was playing for time while he tried to come up with a plan. How could he get him to relinquish his hold on Derek? Both of them knew Stiles would never do anything that could harm Derek.

            “It was meant to find those who would become the strongest werewolves _before_ they were turned. The logic was that those who reacted strongest to the mixture had the lowest tolerance for wolf’s bane. They already had the characteristics of a werewolf so would be better werewolves. In truth they were the same as everyone else, just with a lower tolerance for wolf’s bane. They missed the point. Out of all those who ingested it at the club party only one didn’t get sick.”

            “The kid who went missing,” said Stiles, remembering his Dad mentioning it what seemed like months ago. “That was you. You made him a werewolf.”

            Peter grinned his crooked grin at them all.

            “I did. Can you tell me what happened next?”

            Stiles felt a cold stab in the pit of his stomach

            “You’re making werewolves who are immune to wolf’s bane. You’re going to poison the whole town and anyone left alive, you’re going to turn.”

            “I couldn’t have done it without Lydia. I don’t know what she did but she turned it from a medieval home brew into a finely tuned weapon. That girl is a genius.”

            “But why?” asked Stiles. “Why go through all that?”

            “A pack of werewolves with no vulnerability to wolf’s bane?” Peter laughed. “We’d be unstoppable and I would be their alpha, the one who turned them. You can’t understand the link between you and the one who bit you Stiles. The only thing that’s more powerful in this world is the link between a parent and their child. Finally, we wouldn’t have to be the ones in the shadow any more. First Beacon Hills, then the next town and the next until they’ll have no choice but to bend to our will.”

            Stiles looked at the man. Derek was grasped firmly in his arms though he’d managed to get his feet planted firmly now, supporting his own weight rather than relying on Peter’s

            “You’re actually certifiable aren’t you?” said Stiles. “I mean I always knew you’d gone a little bit loco what with the brutal murder of your family, but this? This is a new level of crazy.”

            Peter raised his eyebrow. “Some would say that. But all the greatest visionaries start with someone saying they’re mad.”

            “You are aware that you’re turning into a Bond villain right now. You’re, like, Wolf-finger.”

            “You could join me,” said Peter. “Both of you. Then we really would be unstoppable.”

            “Yeah, because I’m going to help the man who is currently threatening to rip my boyfriend’s throat out.”

            “Only to ensure your co-operation. I don’t want Derek dead. He’s the last family I have. I’m not completely heartless.”

            “You sent the faeries to kill Stiles, didn’t you!” said Derek. “You think I would do anything for you when you’re just waiting for a chance to kill the only thing in this world I actually give a crap about?”

            “I never wanted to kill Stiles either,” said Peter. “It was a necessity. Never trust faeries to do anything right. First they release a nutcase to do the job then end up smeared all over the forest floor when they try to do it man to man. But I understand I was wrong now. Stiles would be a far greater ally.”

            “I’m telling you now that threatening the love of my life isn’t going to make me any keener to listen to your insanity,” said Stiles.

            “Then stop holding a knife to my chemists throat,” said Peter, looking at Lydia for the first time. “Neither of us want to kill our hostages but we both will if pushed. Family may be family but we all know that Derek means a thousand times more to you than Lydia does to me. Sometimes you have to sacrifice the queen to win the game.”

            Stiles could kick himself. Peter was right. There was no way that Stiles would do anything that would put Derek in danger.

            “Stalemate,” said Stiles. “Why don’t we both agree to back off. You put Derek down, I let Lydia go, then we can talk like regular human beings. Or as close as we’re ever going to get.”

            “Don’t do it Stiles. He’s tricking you,” said Derek. “End this now.”

            “Think about it Derek, walking freely without worrying you’re going to be cut in half by hunters. To stand in the sun instead of hiding from the moonlight,” said Stiles.

            “You’re beginning to see sense then,” said Peter.

            Carefully Peter lowered the weak Derek to the ground as Stiles slowly straightened up. Derek crawled on the ground, trying to support himself but his arms kept giving way. When he did finally manage to lift himself to his knees, Peter gently pushed him back down with his foot.

            “So shall we begin?” said Peter.

            The shot ran out. Peter looked down at his chest. Angela’s bullet had gone straight through him. He touched his fingers to the blood. The second shot made him stagger and fall to his knees. Stiles ran forward, pulling his knife back to plunge it into whatever major blood vessel he could find. Peter grabbed his arm before he could get close enough. His eyes were glowing red already.

            “So be it. I’ve had enough of games anyway.”


	36. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the sun begins to set, Stiles fights for not only his life but Derek and Lydia's to.

            Peter shifted, twisting Stiles’ wrist to bite it. Stiles was ready. He dropped his centre of gravity, barging forward instead of trying to pull away, over balancing Peter and making him fall to the ground. Claws digging into his arm, Stiles kept a death grip on the handle of his knife. It was the only advantage he had. Knowing he could never win in a contest of strength, he tried to slip out of Peter’s grasp but the werewolf was too quick for him.

            Stiles slammed his free arm into Peter’s chest, seeking out the bullet holes. The werewolf recoiled in pain, turning back to human again and letting go of Stiles. The two of them took a step back from and faced each other off.

            There was an explosion of dust near Peter as another of Angela’s shots went wide and hit the ground. He snarled at surged towards Stiles, entangling the two of them so Angela couldn’t shoot without risking hitting Stiles.

            “Stiles,” he heard Derek call weakly. He was clawing forward, fighting through the pain and weakness.

            Peter used the second Stiles took to watch Derek and leapt forward again. Stiles braced his arms trying to keep the snapping wolf at bay. All it would take was enough of a bite to break the skin. There was no way Stiles could fight off a fully grown werewolf through anaphylactic shock. Luckily Peter didn’t know that. He was trying to get at his neck to tear his throat out.

            “Come on Stiles,” said Peter. “I know how much you like a little tussle. The walls in our house are very thin.”

            “Always knew you were a pervert,” Stiles said. Sweat was already running down his face from the effort of holding Peter back.

            “Oh please, but the two of you did have so many interesting conversations. Like where you were following Jackson to. Made framing him so much easier.”

            “You bastard,” said Stiles.

            He surged forward with a new wave of force but it did nothing. Peter was toying with him even now.

            There was another gun shot, louder and closer. Peter turned his attention to see Angela running up, holding out her hand gun. He spun so that Stiles was between them, but still kept his grip firm. These bullets would be wolf killers.

            “Two on one,” said Peter. “This hardly seems fair.”

            “Make that three,” said Derek. He was on his feet but was still swaying with each step forward.

            “Stay down Derek,” said Peter. “Does your little pet mean that much to you or are you that intent on dying?”

            “I’d die a hundred times to stop you from hurting him.”

            Angela fired again, intentionally wide to throw Peter off. He hissed and threw both Stiles and himself at her. She staggered as they hit but Stiles managed to roll free. Peter grabbed the gun from where she’d dropped it and hurled it away from them. Angela punched up but Peter caught her fist. He went in to bite her arm but she managed to pull away from him. His teeth scratched her, breaking the skin. She kicked out enough to wind him and managed to stagger away before she dropped to the ground clutching her throat. She fumbled with her pockets, managing to get out the orange epi-pen and jam it into her leg before collapsing.

            Stiles eyes were focused on Peter as they faced each other once more. Derek was walking forward. Each step was stronger and more assured. Whatever had been used to subdue him was beginning to wear off but he was still weak. If he attacked Peter now the older werewolf would kill him. Stiles was in danger, there was no question about whether Derek would attack. He might be willing to die a hundred times but Stiles wasn’t going to let his boyfriend get hurt trying to defend him. He had to get Peter away. Stiles turned and started to run.

            Stiles knew he couldn’t outrun Peter but he hadn’t been expecting the man to vault over him and block his path. Stiles skid to a stop and stared at him before turning and sprinting up towards the jetty out over the water. He juddered to a stop at the end, staring into the murky water. It would be deep this time of year.

            “I did not think this through,” he said before turning back to watch Peter stalk slowly up the pier, knowing that Stiles had nowhere left to run. The boy spun the knife in his hand, trying to find the best grip, constantly looking at Peter. His foot hit against the coil of rope that had been left on the edge of the jetty. Nowhere left to run.

            “You put up a good fight Stilinski. Made a worthy adversary but we’ve reached the end of the line now. Let’s get this over with. I can already hear your father’s car coming and we wouldn’t want him to witness the death of his son now would we?”

            Stiles strained to hear the noise, praying his father would be there soon. Angela was out of action. Derek was not much better, staggering and stumbling as he tried to rush to Stiles’ aid. It was just Stiles and Peter, surrounded by water.

            Peter went in for the final attack, his teeth firmly aimed at Stiles neck, just as Stiles himself struck forward. Jaws inches from Stiles’ jugular Peter froze, a look of shock in his eyes. He staggered forward but Stiles twisted sideways, nearly falling off the edge. Peter looked down at his stomach where Stiles’ mother’s knife was buried to the hilt in his flesh. He smiled wearily.

            “Well played,” he said, then toppled backwards towards the water. For the briefest of moments Stiles thought he had won. Then he felt the claws around his ankle, Peter grabbing as he fell. Stiles feet were pulled into the water. He grabbed wildly at the deck, gripping onto the mooring rope but it simply unravelled as he fell into the water, Peter dragging him down.

            The water was so cold it locked his lungs and forcing what little air he had out. Even if he’d wanted to breathe his chest was so tight he wouldn’t be able to. He opened his eyes, looking down at Peter. The man knew he was dead but by God was he determined to take Stiles with him.

            Stiles kicked with his free foot, getting it tangled in the rope that was swimming around them. He connected with Peter’s face, raising a bloom of blood in the water. He swam down to yank the blade from the man’s chest. The water made his swings difficult but Stiles stabbed down at whatever bits of Peter he could find, again and again. There was so much blood but he could still see as Peter’s eyes went dead.

            The freezing water still pressed down on him, his lungs feeling like they would burst from the weight of it. Peter’s claws dug into the flesh of his leg, his grip stronger in death. The coils of the mooring rope were wrapped around them both, locking them together. Stiles was glad he had the red coat on. It was keeping him calm. Panic would only use up what little oxygen he had.

            He felt the fingers on his ankle pulling them, trying to get free. They were gripped as tight as iron. He’d have to break them or cut them.

            _Leave the claws. Cut the rope._

His mother’s words came to him then. She’d known. He let go of the fingers and began to hack at the ropes. At first he was careful to avoid cutting himself but with every second the pressure in his lungs seemed to get heavier, the agony in his head was worse. He gritted his teeth together. He wanted to breathe. He needed to breathe but he couldn’t let the water in. He had to fight it.

            A shadow passed over him and then Derek was there, like he was always there when Stiles needed him most. Derek grabbed Peter’s fingers and began to break them one by one. Even through the water Stiles could hear the snap. The last of the bonds fell away and Stiles needed to breathe. He could feel his lungs begging him to risk it, just take in the water, anything to relieve this pain in his chest and head. Breathe, just breathe. Let the water in. His head was blinding him with pain. Every part of him was telling him to breathe. He clamped his hands over his mouth and forced his jaw shut trying to stop it. Fought it for as long as he could, trying to buy Derek the extra few seconds he needed to break Peter’s last finger.

            But it wasn’t enough. The impulse was too strong. He couldn’t stop himself from breathing in.

            The water froze his lungs as he breathed in. At first his whole body convulsed as it tried to expel the water, only to choke more of it down with each breath in. The pain in his head was gone. He felt Derek’s arms around him, his ankle finally free.

            As they raced towards the surface, something about this all seemed very familiar. The sun was setting, its light breaking on the water into beautiful patterns. Derek held him close and he was at peace. Finally.

            By the time they reached the surface, Stiles was gone.


	37. Let Go

            “ _Stiles…_ ”

            At first there is only the voice. It sings to him through the darkness. Opening his eyes he stands in the middle of the woods. Alone. He does not recognise where he is. Somewhere out in the depths of the preserve. A moment ago he was not here, that much he knows. Cold. It had been so cold but now it is not.

            He looks down at himself. Dressed in white where there had been Red.

            The sky is grey. No sign of the sun shows in the sky, only a diffuse light that covers everything. Thin mist curls through the air, bleaching the colour out of a world already painted in greys and brows. No scent of earth and moss, the damp decay of nature. There is nothing.

            “ _Stiles…_ ”

            He spins around trying to locate the voice as it calls out from the trees, peering between the branches to see who is calling. Walking forward he can hear the crunch of leaves and twigs under his feet but the sound is dull, like it comes through water. Water. It had been everywhere, wrapping him tightly. In his eyes, his mouth, his nose, his lungs. He hadn’t been able to breathe, no matter how hard he tried. Air. He had needed it so badly, but instead all he had was water. Without much surprise he realises his chest is not rising and falling. He still is not breathing.

            “ _Stiles, where are you? Stiles…_ ”

            The voice draws him on his path through the unchanging trees. There are no features to show him where he is. He is just wandering, lost in the woods with nothing but a voice to follow. The voice does not change. The voice does not get louder but he knows he will reach where he is heading. He knows he will find his destination.

            The trees thin. Ahead he sees the water spread out in front of him. The ground gently slopes towards the lake. A wooden pier sticks out over the water. He has been here before but when? Sometime in that life he once had, the memory of it sits behind his eyes. Close but forever out of view. He can catch a glimpse of it, but the details are faded, like everything else in this world.

            “I should have known you’d find your way here so quickly. You’ve had to find your own way for so long.”

            He sees her. He knew her once. Loved her. His mother.

            “I’m dead, aren’t I?” he asks.

            His mother scrunches up her face and tilts her head to the side.

            “Depends on how you define dead.”

            “No longer alive. Defunct. Gone to meet one’s maker.”

            She smiles at him. It is familiar, like coming home after the longest of days. It makes him feel safe. It makes him feel.

            “In that case the answer is ‘not yet’.”

            “Where am I?” he asks.

            “Again, depends on your definition. Let’s just say it’s neither here nor there. Come on.” She waves her arm, calling him to follow.

            “Where are we going?” he asks.

            “It’s a big place. It all looks the same so it’s easy to get turned around and not be able to find your way back. I’m just here to show you the way.”

            She leads him down towards the pier. Three people sit. He knows them. How does he know them? Their motions are frantic but played too slowly. They are gathered around something. A body; cold and wet. He recognises his own face. So calm. So pale. The older man, his father, is beating at his chest while the woman who looks like his mother but was not his mother breathed into his mouth. The younger man kneels a few feet away, screaming and beating the ground with his fists.

            “He’s trying to stop you from dying,” says his mother. “You told him your death and now he thinks he can stop it. If he doesn’t hold you in his arms, you won’t die but it’s too late for that now. No one can stop death.”

            His death. He saw it a lifetime ago. A man’s arms held him tightly and he knew he was safe. Without those he would not die. But he remembers them now. Embraced tightly, he felt at peace watching the sunset dance on the waves. He had drowned and now he was dead.

            “So I am dead. That was how I died, they’re just keeping my body alive.”

            “You saw how you die but not the time or the place,” says his mother. “You have a choice. Hold on or let go. I can only show you the way back. People get lost out here so quickly. Spend too long wandering in their own forests. By the time they find their way it’s too late and they can never go back. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. You can carry on, leave this spot and walk away with me into the gaping unknown.”

            He looks up to his mother. Her face is warm and welcoming. She does not look dead. He begins to remember the world he has come from, a world twisted with hate and fear and blood. There was none of that here. There never would be.

            Beyond his mother he can see them. A thousand figures in white. Some wear the fine coats he and his mother ware. Others are dressed in rough spun white wool, cotton or linen. The Council. All of them stretching back throughout time, gathered to watch his choice.

            Hold on or let go.

            This is his family. They would welcome him and embrace him and he would never feel cold or afraid or alone ever again. Here he would always be safe.

            He feels the ghost of a hand grip on to his. He stares down at his lifeless body on the ground in the other world. The younger man is at his side, clutching his hand and begging. Begging him to live.

            Here in the woods is safe. Out there was danger and fear. But there was him. There was the man who was holding his hand.

            “The choice is yours,” says his mother. “They’re waiting for you.”

            Stiles looks up. She has turned his back on him, lifting her hood to cover her head as she walks into the woods. A thousand thousand ancestors echo her movements. He does not want them to go. He wants to follow, to spend more time with them, to find his family.

            A step forward. He feels the grip on his hand slip. If he follows them now he can never return to this spot. Let go and he will never hold this hand again. Grip it tight and he would lose his mother to the mists once more.

            Hold on or let go. That is his choice. Hold on or let go.


	38. Hold On

            The burn of bile in his throat brought Stiles back into consciousness. Coughs scoured his throat as he brought up the foul tasting water out of his lungs. The air burned on its way down but it was the sweetest thing he had ever known. He still couldn’t feel his body, he was too cold. All he could feel was the hand that Derek gripped tightly in his.

            The air stopped, he couldn’t breathe. Panic formed again until he realised that Derek’s mouth was over his, kissing him violently until he was wrenched away.

            “Let him fucking breathe you idiot,” screamed his aunt. Stiles could hear his Dad crying his name too, sobbing over and over again and thanking God.

            It was dark. The sun had set. He tried to ask for a jacket to help with the cold but his tongue was thick and lazy in his mouth. He couldn’t say anything.

            “Get him in the car,” Angela ordered Derek. “Take off both your clothes and hold him as close as you can, he’s fucking freezing. I’ll get Lydia.”

            Stiles tried to form some half-baked joke about making out in the back of his Dad’s car but he still couldn’t speak. His mouth wasn’t his to control. He just made a load of mournful noises.

            “There’s a blanket in the trunk,” his father shouted.

            Stiles felt the cool air against his skin as Derek wrenched his clothes from him, claws deftly tearing to expedite the job. The red coat fell away from him. All the panic and fear that had been kept at bay hit him at once. His chest seized, he couldn’t breathe. He gasped but his body couldn’t remember how to do it properly.

            Derek’s arms were around him, holding him close. Stiles’ muscles relaxed and he surrendered himself to the warmth of Derek’s skin. It was like fire, burning where it touched but Stiles knew that was his lifeline. He grabbed onto it, needing Derek’s nearness as much as he needed his body heat.

            They bundled into the car together, his father wrapping them both up tightly together. He was cold. So damn cold.

 

*****

 

            “Please Melissa, you’ve got to tell me what to do.”

            Derek’s voice came through tears. Stiles’ eyes flickered open, looking up as Derek screamed down the phone. How long had he been asleep? He didn’t want to sleep. He wasn’t sure where he’d be when he woke up again.

            “I tried that! He’s so cold and he’s just not getting warm. I don’t know what to do, you have to tell me what to do.”

            “Keep calm, that’s what you need to do,” cried his aunt from beside them. “We’ll be at the hospital in ten minutes.”

            They hit a speed bump at full speed. His head lolled so that he could see Lydia in the front seat. She was bent double, hand clamped to her mouth as wave after wave of green vomit slid between her fingers. She was alive and in time she would be fine. It hadn’t been for nothing.

             Stiles felt his Vision click on with crystal clarity. He could see them at the hospital, him strung across Derek’s arms like a sick dog as they ran in. The team would be waiting for them.

            Derek flung the phone down and pulled Stiles in with both arms. He wanted to tell Derek that it would all be okay. He was going to be fine. The next time they lay together like this they’d be in bed, happy and whole, but he couldn’t. Stiles couldn’t See that far ahead. What little he could See was taxing enough and he was so very, very tired.

            “Go faster! We have to get there. We have to get there now!”

 

*****

 

            “Over here!” cried Mrs McCall.

            Stiles felt the gurney being shoved underneath him. Immediately blankets and heat pads were shoved in all around him as they rushed through the corridor.

            “Let me through,” Derek was growling.

            “I’m sorry,” said a nurse. “The doctors need to work.”

            “I’ll look after him,” said Melissa.

            Before any of them could complain, Stiles was being raced down the hallway. They were hooking him up to machines and poking needles into his skin. It hurt at first but then there was a blossom of warmth as it fed into his veins. The medical professionals around him barked out numbers and words he didn’t understand. Stiles could hear the concern in their voices but mostly he could hear Scott’s Mom, telling him he was safe now, he was going to be fine.

 

*****

           

            “I’m not leaving!” said Derek.

            “I’m sorry Mr. Hale but only family can stay overnight.”

            Stiles wanted to open his eyes, to tell the stupid doctor that Derek could stay but how did you open eyes again? It all seemed so vague and far away.

            “Look, the kid in that bed is my son and he would want Derek here,” said Stiles’ Dad. “I want Derek here. Stiles will get better quicker if Derek is here. Why can’t he stay?”

            “It’s hospital policy Sheriff Stilinski. Family only. There’s nothing I can do.”

            “For god’s sake man, Derek is family!” said Stiles’ father. “And who’s going to report you? And to who? I’m the sheriff and I’m the one telling you to do it.”

            “I’m his cousin, cousin Miguel,” said Derek. “Put that down on your stupid form. Then it’s all on me, I lied, but if you kick me out of here then you are going to spend all of your time picking up broken glass from the windows I break to get in and fixing the vents I crawl through because there is no way in hell that I am not staying in this room tonight, do you understand me.”

            Attaboy Derek. Attaboy.

 

*****

           

            “Be honest with me Bill. What’s going on? How is he doing?” said Mrs McCall.

            There was a pause as the doctor walked to the other side of the room.

            “He’s responding to treatment. His core temperature is returning to normal and there don’t seem to be any residual physical effects from the water inhalation. We still need to watch for signs of infection and internal bleeding from the CPR. All signs considered his body should be good as new in a week or so.”

            “Come on Bill. I’ve been around doctors long enough to know when I’m being bull shitted. No physical effects, what about mental?”

            There was a pause. It was a long pause. Even as dissociated from himself as Stiles was he could tell that.

            “He was underwater a long time. When they got him to the surface it was another few minutes until they got him to breathe. That’s a long time to go without oxygen. We should have seen some sign he was there by now but we’ve got nothing.”

            “But he wakes up sometimes. He opens his eyes and I can see he’s still alive he’s just… he’s just not there. They said he was awake and alert when he first coughed up the water,” said Melissa. She was holding on to hope as violently as if it had been Scott lying there.

            “He might have done but there’s every chance that his family exaggerated his consciousness. They saw what they wanted to see. The hypothermia might have slowed his metabolism down, so the oxygen deprevation wasn't so bad but... They did the right thing and they got him here fast but it might not have been fast enough. He’ll live. He just might not be the same person he was last week.”

            Stiles heard Melissa let out whimper of despair.

            “What can we do? I’m a nurse, I do things, I help people. There has to be something that I can do. I have to do something.”

            “I’m sorry Mel. There’s nothing left to do now other than wait, hope and pray.

 

*****

           

            “Hey,” said Scott’s voice. It sounded hoarse, like he’d only just woken up.

            “How is he?” asked Lydia.

            “I don’t know. Mom’s not saying anything. That’s not usually a good sign.”

            Stiles felt Lydia’s fingers over his own. He wanted to open his eyes and say he was sorry but he didn’t.

            “Um Scott,” said Lydia. “Do you mind if I have a moment alone with him?”

            “I’m not sure that’s-”

            “He’s hooked up to like a thousand alarms,” she said, her voice skipping as she tried to hide her fear behind a joke, something she wasn’t as practiced in as Stiles was. Why was she so upset? He’d been the one who’d tried to kill her. “I couldn’t change his bed pan without setting half of them off. Besides… I’m not mad at him. It’s… he’s my best friend and I’m the reason that he’s here. If it hadn’t been for me and what I tried to do, what I did, Peter wouldn’t have been there and-”

            “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know what you were doing. You’re not the one to blame here.”

            “I might not be to blame Scott but it is my fault.”

            There was a moment of silence and then the door opened and closed again. More silence. The fingers on his hand were clutched more tightly. A petit body thudded against the side of the bed.

            “I’m sorry,” she wept. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

*****

 

            Stiles felt warm. It was like that feeling when it’s a cold day outside and you’ve just woken up. Your bed is so lovely that you don’t ever want to leave it. The only thing that would make this feeling better would be if someone were here with him, keeping the bed even warmer.

            The mattress shifted. Stiles smiled or at least tried. He wasn’t sure if the motion made it all the way to the muscles in his face. His eyes flickered open enough to make out the shapes in the room. Derek was sat on the edge of his bed, hands clasped in his lap. He looked so formal, like a kid who’d just been scolded and sent to their room to think about what they’d done. The thought of Derek as a hangdog six year old made Stiles want to laugh but he couldn’t remember how to do that right now.

            Derek looked up. His eyes were glistening as tears ran unashamedly down his face. He sniffed before speaking.

            “Hey God. Umm it’s Derek here. Derek Hale. I’m not really sure how you’re supposed to do this praying deal. The Hale family was never that big on the God thing but I guess you know that. I’m not even sure if I think you’re there but hey worth a shot, huh?

            “I know I’ve not been a good person. I’ve done some pretty bad things, broken most of your commandments. ‘Thou shalt not kill’ is supposed to be a pretty big one I hear. Broken that one once or twice. I don’t think I’m a _bad_ person, I tried to do what was right for me and mine but a _good_ person? No. I’m not that. Maybe you don’t think people like me are even human.

            “But Stiles did. He thought I was human, kept telling me I was. Stiles is a good person. Great even. He’s done nothing but protect his friends, his family and a town full of people who don’t even know his name. He doesn’t deserve to end up like this; a vegetable in a hospital ward or some brain damaged idiot who can’t even wipe his own ass. I’m not asking you to pull a miracle recovery. Just let him open his eyes and actually look at something and know what it is. Let him say some stupid ass wise crack that isn’t even funny but I laugh at anyway because he can make anything hilarious. If he can’t walk straight or his SAT scores go down a few points we’ll deal with it but just keep him who he was. Just let him still _be_ Stiles. If you won’t do it for me, do it for him. He saved like, ten thousand people, probably more. You owe him one. Bring him back to me, please. He is all I have left now. Just bring him back. Please.”

            Derek’s hand found his again. Hold on or let go. Stiles put everything he was into squeezing the hand in his.

            _Hold on,_ thought Stiles. _Hold on._


	39. Blueberry Pancakes

            Stiles let out a contented hum. He could feel Derek lying alongside him in bed. It was so warm with the two of them together. Perhaps they could book a little bit of ‘snuggle time’ before his Dad got back in from work.

            Attempting to roll over he felt a series of sharp pains in his arms. He opened his eyes, finding it a lot harder than it should have been. The lights were dimmed low and he recognised the now all too familiar surroundings of a hospital ward.

            “Oh. Yeah.”

            Derek blearily opened his eyes. He must have been up late for him to not snap to alertness suddenly. He yawned widely before looking across at Stiles.

            “Morning,” he said sleepily. His senses returned to him in a burst. “Stiles?”

            Derek looked like he was watching a sunrise for the first time as he realised what was happening.

            “I’m not feeling too great,” said Stiles. “Might skip school today. Wanna play hooky with me?”

            Derek let out a sob of laughter. “Sounds good.”

            “Awesome. Give me a sec and we’ll get right on that make out session.”

            “Whatever you want,” said Derek. He kissed Stiles on the forehead and pushed the nurse call button, “Just promise me you won’t ever scare me like that again, okay?”

            “I don’t know. Trouble seems to be a friend of mine, like the one guy you have to hang out with sometimes, who thinks you’re his friend but you’re constantly trying to work out how to get rid of him.”

            “I just growl at people I want to go away. Usually works?”

            “Really? I’ve always found it sexy.”

            The door slammed open and Mrs McCall slid into the room. 

            “What is it? What’s wrong?” she said.

            “Hey Mrs Scott’s Mom,” said Stiles.

            She looked at him for a moment with shock.

            “Sti… DOCTOR!”

            She ran back out the door screaming. Stiles groaned as Derek tried to extricate himself from his arms.

            “Stay.”

            “The doctors will be here in a minute,” Derek said, kissing him again.

            “Exactly. I want to be with you as long as I can.”

            Derek just had time to smile at him before doctors and nurses came flying into the room, the Sheriff not far behind. It felt like a hundred pairs of hands were hugging him, prodding him, shining things into his eyes. Four different people were asking him questions all at the same time. It was all too much or it would have been if he hadn’t been able to look up and see Derek, stood in the corner of the room. Out the way of the doctors but still there. Always there.

            “You had us worried for a bit there,” said the doctor. “You have a remarkably resilient little brain there Mr Stilinski.”

            “Stiles, please. I’ve been in and out of this place so many times I think we’re on first name terms don’t you. Hey, do you guys offer some kind of loyalty scheme, like frequent flyer miles? Because I must be racking up the points by now.”

            “Yeah,” said Mrs McCall. “He’s fine.”

           

*****

 

            Stiles stared at the fingers of his left hand, willing with all his might for his ring finger to just bend over and touch his thumb. He shook his arm out with a snap, hoping that it might somehow shake back in whatever it was that had fallen out and left him unable to use his left hand properly.

            All things considered, his injuries could have been a lot worse. He couldn’t quite get his left arm working right below the elbow, he had a bit of trouble walking and when he spoke too quickly he had a habit of slipping up and saying the wrong word.

            He looked at his fingers again before giving up and forcing them together with the other hand.

            “Keep at it,” said Angela as she walked in with a soda. She cracked the can open and set it in front of him.

            “Thanks,” he said.

            “How’s it going?” she said nodding at his hand.

            “Nothing a few years of physiotherapy can’t sort out.”

            “You’re lucky. Considering the potential brain damage that could have happened, a bad hand isn’t so bad.”

            “And it’s my left too,” he said cheerily. “The right’s fine so I can still do everything.”

            “I know you can,” she said. “Melissa told me about the incident the other day.”

            “Hey! How was I supposed to know that they were going to come running in like that?”

            “Stiles, you’re hooked up to a heart rate monitor. The second you and Derek started Stiles’ happy time your pulse went through the roof. They thought you were having a heart attack!”

            “I know that now,” he said. It was hard to tell who had been more embarrassed. Him, Derek or Scott’s Mom.

            Angela sat down in the chair beside the bed and held out a small package. She unwrapped it, showing his mother’s knife.

            “We went back to clean up the lake, get rid of the body and so on. I thought you might want it back.”

            The ran his hands down the flat of the blade. It was clean. There had been so much blood at the time but none of it had stained the knife, the water of the lake washing it away every time he’d drawn back to stab at Peter.

            He’d killed a man. It only hit him in that instant. He had killed someone. The heart rate monitor beside him remained perfectly steady. That scared him a little.

            “How’s Lydia?” he asked.

            She’d been in once to see him. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days and sobbed constantly until one of the nurses had to take her away. He wasn’t the only one who had killed someone.

            “In therapy. Intensive therapy with Council therapists.”

            “Will she be okay?”

            “She’s a strong one, that girl. We know a couple of tricks to make it easier for her as well.”

            “With magic? Like with my Dad?” said Stiles.

            “This is different, Stiles. Experts are doing it and she’s agreed. All we’re doing is convincing her brain that the person who did those things wasn’t Lydia Martin, it was Peter Hale.”

            Stiles stared down at the knife again, looking at the handle his mother had once held. Had she killed anyone with it?

            “I saw my Mom,” he said. “I was standing in the woods and she was there. I was dying but she showed me the way back.”

            Angela leaned back and nodded slowly.

            “I’ve heard other people say similar things happened to them. She was there to help you when you needed it most.”

            “It was my death though, the one I saw when I looked in the mirror.”

            “No. It was similar. This was… an echo. You’re still here. Hopefully got a few more years yet until you’re there for real.”

            “What did you see when you first took the White?” Stiles asked without thinking

            “You’re not supposed to ask that. It’s considered rude.”

            “Like it would be rude to ask which werewolf you’re swapping bodily fluids with?”

            Angela fixed him with a stare. When Peter had bitten her she’d had a reaction, a bad one. There was only one reason that would happen.

            “Yes. It would be rude to ask that,” she said slowly. “Luckily you’re classy enough not to.”

            Stiles could see her own guilt play across her face. She’d let Peter get under her skin and been blind to what he was doing. This was as much on her as it was on anyone else. She wrapped the knife back up and put it in the side table so a nurse wouldn’t stumble upon it and freak out. Her fingers rested on the side of the drawer as she spoke.

            “I die as I live and I have lived as I will die. In a blaze of glory with a gun in my hand and a curse on my lips.”

 

*****

 

            “Watch the door Derek. I’ve only just got out of the hospital. You don’t want to send me back with a new brand of brain damage do you?”

            “Perhaps you’d like me to leave you to crawl in by yourself,” said Derek. “You can walk on your own, you’re not completely paralysed. I don’t see why I have to carry you.”

            The smell of cooking came from the kitchen, accompanied by his aunt’s ridiculous singing as Angela hustled about the kitchen.

            “Stop hankering for sympathy Stiles. Dinner will be ready in a minute.”

            “Come on Derek,” said Stiles Dad. “You better help me set the table seeing as how I can’t trust my own son to not stab himself in the eye with a fork.”

            “Hey!” Stiles protested but stopped after seeing the shock on Derek’s face. He’d not been expecting to be invited to stay, let alone being welcomed in enough to be asked to set the table. That’s what family did.

            Dinner was delicious. Mind you, after ten days of hospital gruel anything that wasn’t served on a plastic tray tasted like five star cuisine. It wasn’t awkward either. Stiles had always assumed the first time Derek came for dinner would involve a lot of shouting and thinly veiled threats about how his Dad knew where to hide the body. Instead they talked about normal stuff. Movies and TV, sports, finances, the book that Angela was reading. With a Sheriff, an FBI agent and a Stiles in the room it wasn’t long before the chat turned to the job and the justice system. Surprisingly Derek joined in that discussion as well, having been more familiar with it from the other side. In fact, if Stiles hadn’t known better he would have sworn that his Dad was eyeing Derek up, to see if he had what it took to change his spots and make it as a cop. Angela kept interjecting with her own wild stories about all the craziness that had been sent her way while she’d been on the job for the bureau.

            While she was half way through the tale of the three headed dog in Maine that Stiles had heard twice before he looked up and let his gaze wander to the picture of his Mom on the side. It was his favourite picture of her. A quick snap his Dad had taken where she was just smiling her normal warm smile straight into the camera. Angela had once told him that his mother’s sacrifice of her life would one day save his own. She was right. It had. His Mom was always with him. She’d been with him there, in the woods, showing him the way back home. Stiles looked back to his Dad, aunt and Derek. His family. He’d held on and now he was never letting go.

            “This is the best apple pie I have ever tasted,” said Derek cutting himself a second slice.

            “Glad you like it. Secret family recipe. Just like Momma used to make,” said Angela with a wink at Stiles. She yawned and stretched herself out, her spine making an audible crack as she did so. “I’m beat. I should probably be heading home.”

            “You sure? You’re welcome to stay in the spare room if you want,” said Stiles’ Dad.

            “Nah. It’s not like my place is exactly far,” she said.

            “Suit yourself. You staying over tonight Derek?”

            Derek inhaled half a mouthful of pie, hacking on the crumbly pastry.

            “Excuse me?” he croaked.

            “Tonight, are you staying?” Stiles’ Dad pointed over at his son. “Someone needs to stay in with that one to make sure he doesn’t sleep walk out the window or choke on his own tongue.”

            “Uh, yeah. I can do that,” said Derek.

            Stiles gripped Derek’s hand under the table. The truth was that everyone in that room knew that Derek would be spending the night in Stiles’ room regardless. That wasn’t why his Dad had asked him. Stiles’ really underestimated how awesome his Dad was sometimes.

            “Awesome,” said Stiles trying to sound like everything was cool. “And you can’t choke on your own tongue, it’s physically impossible. I think you’ll find it’s spontaneous combustion that’s next on the list of new and exciting ways I’m going to try and kill myself.”

 

*****

 

            Derek hovered in the corner of the room for a moment, looking a little forlorn. It would have been sad if he hadn’t been dressed in nothing but his boxers and, for some reason, one solitary sock.

            “What the hell is wrong now?” asked Stiles.

            “Nothing.”

            “Derek?”

            “It’s just weird, okay. We never do this.”

            “Do what?”

            “This. Just get undressed and go to bed without any of the other stuff.”

            “If it makes you comfortable there can be some of the stuff. You know I love stuff. And stuff.”

            Derek glared at him.

            “How badly were you brain damaged again?”

            “Derek, I’m tired. Just get in so I can go to sleep in my own bed for the first time in forever.”

            “It would have helped if your Dad hadn’t just been in to tuck you in.”

            “Shut up and get in here Derek or I swear to Lord Almighty God…”

            He didn’t need to finish. Derek walked forward and got in beside him. He shifted and squirmed trying to get comfortable. Stiles grabbed him and gave him a long lingering kiss. He could feel the tension in Derek fade out of him as they kissed. There was nothing to worry about here. This was the first of many, many nights together.

            “I’m glad you can stay,” said Stiles.

            “Me too. Do you reckon this is going to be a regular thing?” asked Derek.

            “Think my Dad is going to let my big werewolf boyfriend stay over to have his wicked way with me? Who knows? For now I’m looking forward to the blueberry pancakes my Dad’s going to make tomorrow morning.”

            “Pancakes?” said Derek suddenly perking up. “There’s going to be pancakes?”

            “If everything goes according to plan. I have Seen it. With a capital S. You may or may not have an incident with some maple syrup. It will be hilarious.”

            “Hilarious for who? Man, I can’t remember the last time I had pancakes for breakfast.”

            It had probably been with his family, Stiles realised. They may be gone, but he was here for Derek now. So were his Dad and Angela, Scott, Allison, Erica, Boyd, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, even Danny. They were pack now. They were family.

            “I promise you this won’t be the last time,” Stiles said.

            “It won’t?”

            “No. It’s pancakes all the way from now on.”

            He brushed the hair away from Derek’s temple as he had done a dozen times. His Sight fractured and the years stretched before him. He saw him doing that simple motion a thousand times more while they were lying in bed, about to head out to work or stopped in the aisle while doing the groceries. Sometimes he’ll do it because the way Derek’s hair is sticking out bugs him, other times because Derek is upset and will need the comfort of someone who loves him and sometimes he will do it just because. The hair will change in shade from black to a silver grey that shines in the moonlight. Whenever they sit at the kitchen table and eat blueberry pancakes, Stiles will reach over and run his fingers through Derek’s hair in the exact same spot and know whatever may come tomorrow, they will always have each other.

            “I love you Stiles,” said Derek.

            “Me too Derek. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So this is it. The final chapter. Three stories, 200k words, a billion cliffhangers and here we are at the end. And to think 6 months ago I had barely even heard of Teen Wolf. 
> 
> Thank you every much to all of you who have stuck with this to the end. I would have probably have given up if it wasn't for all your lovely comments and feedback, so thank you very much for encouraging me. Really you've been great. 
> 
> This is the end of Three Times A Lady, but I am planning on carrying on this 'verse in another series called ['Busy Making Other Plans' ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/43741)which will be a collection of short stories about what the gang gets up to later in their lives. I have no schedule for this and am writing it entirely for my own amusement. The first part is up (completely direction less fluff-agedon). Next bit will be up when I have the time to finish writing it.
> 
> Once again, thank you so much. It's been an experience.


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